


A Crystal in the Depths

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Atlantis: The Lost Empire, Alternative Hale Fire, BAMF Derek, BAMF Derek Hale, BAMF Stiles, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Derek Hale Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Gen, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post Hale Fire, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-10-30 21:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10885020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Derek Hale is an undervalued museum cartographer and linguist who dreams of completing the quest his father began all those years ago to find the legendary lost empire of Atlantis. When the key to finding the lost city, the Shepard’s Journal, is found, Derek’s live takes a new turn.





	1. Prologue

‘…in a single day of misfortune, the island of Atlantis disappeared into the depths of the sea.’

                                                                                                              – Plato, 360 B.C. 

 

The sea was calm and still, the scintillating azure stretched across the horizon like a sheet of rippling fabric. The sloshing water gently caressed the gleaming sand of the beach and lapped at the rocky cliffs, thick bricks of sea-side buildings, and the wooden planks that held the piers upright. Thin streams and rivulets wove through the lush emerald fields like thin ribbons, all drawn into a central point further inland. Gulls soared overhead, their wings beating every so often to keep them in the air as they glided through streams of air.

There was no sign of danger, no precursor to the tragedy that was to follow.

A piercing light split the horizon, a loud boom shattering the air as the silhouettes of a fleet of ships broke flew into view.

The engines hummed and revved as they tried to outrun the unseen imminent danger.

The tide pulled back and the horizon began to ripple and rise.  The tidal wave rose, creeping up on the fleeing ships like a predator stalking its prey and drawing closer and closer by the second.

“You fool!” one pilot shouted to another. “You’ve destroyed us all!”

“The wave is gaining!” another pilot howled, drawing their attention back to the imminent threat that was catching up to them. “We have to warn Atlantis!”

“We’re too late,” his co-pilot muttered, glancing back one last time as the wave caught them and tore their ships from the sky.

Their cries were muffled and suffocated as they were pulled beneath the foaming water.

A few pilots escaped the wave, their aerodynamic ships gliding through the air and cutting paths through the rocky paths and pastural fields. They flew past one of the guard towers on the outskirts of the city, shouting to the man who patrolled it. But their words went unheard.

The guard’s attention was drawn to the dark shadow that crept over the land as the wave dragged itself forward. He grabbed the horn of the announcement system and began to shout, "Everyone to the shelters. Everyone to the shelters.”

The announcement rang out through the large megaphones embedded in statues, carrying across the land and reaching every citizen.

The guards in other towers began to pull back the hammers and ring the bells, signalling for everyone to evacuate the streets. The loud gongs rang through Atlantis, echoing though the buildings and the streets.

Red lights flooded the city, spinning about and brushing over people as if they were searching for something.

The civilians panicked, screaming and crying as they ran for the shelters. Mothers grabbed their crying children, clutching them to their chest as they ran through the rivers of people that scurried through the streets. Guards lined the street, patiently directing the crowd and ushering everyone towards the shelter.

The skies darkened, heavy grey clouds blocking out the light. Forks of lightning split the air and struck the ground. Booming claps of thunder sounded overhead, making the people flinch and cry in fear.

Children cupped their hands over their ears, dropping to their knees and crying. Parents fought against the pull of the tide, trying to push back through the rush of people to grab their children. Others would grab the children as they ran, lifting them into their arms and shouting to the parents as they made their way towards the shelters.

“This way, your highness,” a guard called, leading the way for the king and queen to follow.

The man nodded, calling to his wife.

The queen turned to pick up her son, one of the children cowering from the thunder and fearing the wrath of the gods.

“Stiles, come on,” Claudia said firmly, pulling her son into her hold.

Stiles fought back, tears streaking his mole-speckled cheeks as he desperately tried to pull away and hide somewhere the way he usually did when he was scared.

“Stiles,” his mother said softly, her voice full of fear. “We have to leave. There’s no time…”

Her voice drifted off as a tunnel of light fell on her. The red beam faded to blue as she turned and looked up at the sky. Her crystal necklace hovered before her face as her eyes faded to white. A soft, broken sigh fell from her lips as she rose to her feet, still holding onto her son’s hand.

The lights that flooded the streets began to circle around her, spinning at an incredible speed before condensing into one focused beam of light.

Her body jolted as they focused on her chest, her body weakening as they light began to lift her towards the sky. The fabric of her dress began to billow and drift around her body as her bare feet caressed the marble tiles.

She fell still, lifeless as she rose. Her grip on her son slipped, her warm hand drawing away from his as her fingers caught a hold of the small liver cuff that the boy wore.

“Mama!” Stiles cried, his chubby arms lifted towards the sky and begging for his mother’s return. He tried desperately to reach for her, tears falling faster as he screamed, “Mama!”

He stumbled forward, his legs toppling beneath him and his knees hitting the tiles. His tears glistened in the glow as he watched his mother lifted into the light.

The light began to glow like a star, spinning at an unbelievable speed.

Around the city, large stone golems rose to their posts. They clapped their hands together, a shield of light and energy erupting from the thundering applause as they drew their arms out. The shields radiated out, blending together as they formed a protective barrier around the city of Atlantis.

The city filled with the cries of the people who were trapped outside the barrier. They frantically pummelled their fists against the glowing shield, screaming and begging to be saved.

But there was nothing anyone could do; the shields were up and they could not be penetrated by anything or anyone.

They held loved ones close as the wave crashed over them, consuming the land, destroying buildings and sealing their fate.

The king raced back to his son’s side, pulling the boy into his arms and cradling the child’s tear-streaked face into his chest as he whispered, “Look away, Stiles. Close your eyes and look away.”

The man stared up at the blinding light that hovered over the city.

The spherical shield closed over the city.

The light erupted like an exploding start as the wave crashed over them.

The water settled, the city submerged beneath the depths as the tide stilled to a calm, rippling sheet of azure.

And with that, Atlantis was lost forever.


	2. Chapter 2

The streets of Washington were full of aristocrats who strolled down the beautifully lit cobblestone roads, dressed in fine suits and elegant dresses. Horse-drawn carriages rattled down the streets, hooves clopping on the smooth rocks as they trotted on. Small automobiles rumbled down the street before the large red brick building that stood tall with far towers, a looming door, large windows and fine architecture. The Smithsonian museum.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Derek started, his voice smooth and confident. “First off, I’d like to thank the board for taking this time to hear my proposal.”

He stood behind a rich oak podium atop a small stage. Behind him was a statue busk of the Greek philosopher Plato, a chalkboard with a piece of scripture written across the top and a paper map tacked to the other end.

Derek was a good-looking man, dressed in a neat white dress shirt and a tailor-made grey vest with a faded pinstripe. The top button was unfastened but hidden beneath the knot of his grey tie. He was a young man, but stern and handsome. His hair was dark and thick, cropped short at the base of his skull and across his strong jaw, the soft whiskers casting a shadow across his jaw and framing his sharp cheekbones. Most men saw his trimmed whiskers as unkempt and barbaric – neither clean-shaven nor grown into a beard and groomed – but he wore it with a confidence that suited him. His wide-set eyes were pale beneath his dark brows, narrowed on him as the colour of his irises shifted in the light; from hazel to green, to a shade of light blue – clear, bright and focused. He was lit by a spotlight, the light catching on the lenses of his glasses and blinding him slightly as he directed his gaze towards the audience.

Gentlemen in top hats watched on as he began his speech, “Now, we’ve all heard the legend of Atlantis, a continent in the mid-Atlantic ocean that was home to an advanced civilisation who possessed technology far more advanced than our own, that – according to our friend Plato here –” he said, gesturing towards the busk, “– was struck by an event so cataclysmic that it was sunk beneath the sea. Some of you may ask, ‘why Atlantis? It’s just a myth, isn’t it? Pure fantasy’. Well, that is where you’d be wrong. Ten thousand years before the Egyptians built the pyramids, Atlantis had electricity, advanced medicine and even the power of flight. ‘Impossible’ you say, well no, not for them. Many ancient civilisations across the globe say that Atlantis had a power source of some kind, more powerful than steam or coal, and more powerful than our internal combustion engines. Gentlemen, I propose that we find Atlantis, find that power source, and bring it back to the surface.”

He picked up a slide, a framed piece of paper that bore an image of scripture and an illustration.

“Now this is a copy of a page from an illuminated text that mentions a book known as the Shepard’s Journal,” he explained. “It’s said to have been a first-hand account of Atlantis and i’s exact whereabouts.”

He turned to the nearby chalkboard, indicating the writing at the top of the board, a piece of ancient scripture and a translation beneath it:

 COAST OF IRELAND

“Based on a centuries-old translation of a Norse text, researchers believe that the journal resides somewhere off the coast of Ireland. But having studied the text myself and comparing it to the inscription of ruins on this Viking shield–” He pulled a shield out from behind the podium, grunting as he hoists it into his arms. “– I found that one of the letters had been mistranslated. And so, by erasing this letter and inserting the new one–” He did so, using his sleeve to wipe away the ‘r’ before picking up the piece of chalk and writing a ‘c’ in its place. “– we now discover that the Shepard’s Journal – the key to finding Atlantis – lies not in Ireland, but is in fact located off the coast of Iceland.”

He pauses for a moment, setting down the shield and turning to the audience.

“Gentlemen, I will now take your questions.”

The phone rang.

Derek sighed heavily. He excused himself, turned and laid down over the chalkboard, making it spin until it was laid flat. He reached for the phone, pulling it forward before picking up and answering, “Cartography and linguistics, Derek Hale speaking.”

The person on the other end of the line began to scream into the phone, enrages as they complained to him about something.

“Just a moment,” Derek said, sliding back off the board and turning on the lights to his office. The dull globe flickered as it lit the room, revealing the audience he had been talking to consisted of anatomy skeletons, ancient tribal masks and vases all dressed in top hats.

He climbed past them and over to the large boiler in the corner of the room. He spun the knobs, waiting until the pressure built up and the vents squealed with steam before he thumped it with a nearby wrench.

It sputtered before roaring back to life.

He made his way back to the phone, picking up the receiver and asking, “How’s that? Better?”

They muttered a quick thank you, still discontent and sneering into the phone.

“You’re welcome,” Derek replied, hanging up the phone.

He slid back off the board and corrected it, turning his attention to the map. He stepped in front of the board and continued his mock presentation, “As you can see by this map I have drawn, I have plotted a course that will take myself and a crew across to the coast of Iceland where we can retrieve the Journal.”

The cuckoo clock that sat on the wall by the door chimed, the small wooden bird singing as it burst out from the clock.

“Show time,” Derek whispered, taking a moment to draw in a deep breath and centre himself. He walked over to the nearby desk and collected several books and scrolls of paper. “This is it. I’m finally getting out of the dungeon.”

He stepped over to the basement door, shrugging on his suit jacket and picking his satchel up off the coat hook. He burrowed through his bag and pulled out the framed photograph he always carried with him, the photograph of his family – his mother, his father, his older sister, Laura, and himself; Cora hadn’t been born yet. He gently brushed his fingers across the glass before setting it back down in his bag.

He reached for the doorhandle when a cylinder slid down the nearby tube, stopping at the bottom with a small bounce. He stepped back into his office and pulled the cylinder from the chute. He pulled out the letter and hastily read it:

 

_Dear Mr Hale,_

_This letter is to inform you that your meeting today has been moved up from four thirty this afternoon to three thirty._

_Regards,_

_Administration._

 

Derek frowned and looked up at the clock.

4pm.

He felt his jaw tense as anger began to brew in his chest, his blood running cold.

Another letter came down the chute.

Derek picked it up and read it,

 

_Dear Mr Hale,_

_Due to your absence today, the Board has elected to refuse your proposal._

_Have a nice weekend._

_Sincerely,_

_The Board of Directors._

 

Derek was lost for words, tears of rage welling in his eyes.

He ran out of the building and onto the street where he saw the Board of Directors climbing into their cars and pulling away from the curb.

He sprinted over to the head of the board, the director of the museum, and hastily stopped him.

“Sir, please,” he begged, slightly out of breath.

“Mr Hale,” the man interrupted, raising a hand to silence Derek. “This museum funds scientific expeditions based on facts, not legends and folklore. Besides, we need you here. We depend on you.”

“You do?” Derek asked, shocked.

“Yes, what with winter coming, that boiler is going to need extra attention,” the director replied condescendingly.

Derek’s heart sank into his stomach, his face falling into a sombre expression.

“Onwards driver,” the man called as the car pulled away from the curb and left Derek behind.

“If you reject my proposal, I’ll quit!” Derek shouted after them.

The car reversed, pulling up before Derek.

“I mean it, sir,” Derek said, pulling a letter of resignation from his pocket and holding it before himself. “If you refuse my proposal, I’ll-”

“You’ll do what? Flush your career down the toilet like your father did?” the man sneered.

Derek felt his blood gush through his veins, anger feeling his body as the man mocked his father.

“You have a lot of potential, Derek,” the director said softly. “Don’t throw it away chasing fairy tales.”

“I can prove it exists,” Derek insisted. “If you give me the chance-”

“You want to go on an expedition, here,” the interrupted, tossing a coin at Derek’s feet. “Take the trolley to the Potomac River and jump in. Maybe the cold water will clear your head.”

The car drove away, splashing water over Derek.

Derek sighed, looking down at the soggy sheet of paper in his hand. He watched as the car drove away, leaving him broken and disheartened as he turned and began to walk home.

 

 

Derek’s keys rattled in the old lock as he pulled back the latch and pushed open the door to his apartment. He stepped into the small hallway, defeated, depressed and soaking wet from the rain that poured from the skies.

“I’m home,” he called into the darkness. “Cora?”

There was no reply.

He reached for the small light switch by the door, flicking it. The light didn’t turn on.

“Great,” he uttered under his breath. “Just what I need.”

He shrugged off his coat and satchel and hung them on the small hook by the door.

“Cora,” he called again, but his sister didn’t reply.

He made his way through the darkness, the path to the bench memorised. He dropped the scrolls and books on the counter top as a flash of lightning lit the small room. He caught a glimpse of the letter his sister had left him on the bench. Picking it up, he turned it towards the small window, letting the dull light of the streetlamp light the neat scrawls of ink.

“Gone out for the night, staying with a friend, won’t be back for a few days,” he summarised. “Love, Cora.”

He set it down on the bench.

“Derek Hale?” a voice called from the darkness.

Derek spun around, ready to fight.

A flash of lightning lit the silhouette of a young woman, dressed in an elegant silk gown and fur shawl and matching fur hat.

“Who are you?” Derek growled. “How did you get in my house?”

She sat down in a chair seductively, the split in her skirt riding up her thigh just enough to reveal the band of her stockings.

“I’m Santa Clause. I came down the chimney,” she replied jokingly. “Ho, ho, ho.”

Derek didn’t laugh.

She brushed aside a strand of her golden hair and continued, “My name is Katherine Argent and I’m acting on behalf of my employer who has the most intriguing proposition for you. Are you interested?”

“Your employer?” Derek asked. “Who is your employer?”

 

 

Before he knew it, Derek was sitting in the back of a car and driving past an ornate cast iron gate, onto a large estate. On the gate sat a large bronze plate with engraved text that read: Dr A Deaton.

The rain poured down around them, lightning lighting the world in strobing flashes.

The car pulled up to a large circular driveway, stopping before the small fleet of stairs that lead up to the large front doors.

They stepped out of the car and hurried inside, stripping off their coats.

Kate let down the flowing curtain of blonde cascading locks, the strap of her dress falling off her shoulder as she sauntered across the large foyer and towards an elevator.

“This way,” she called over her shoulder.

Derek followed.

“Step lightly,” she instructed. “Dr Deaton doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Once in the elevator, the ornate doors were pulled shut and a latch slid into place. Kate pushed a button and the cart began to descend.

Kate turned and began to tidy Derek’s clothes, tugging at his vest, straightening his tie and glasses, and unrolling his sleeves as she said, “You will address him as Dr Deaton or sir. You will stand unless asked to be seated. You will keep your sentences short and to the point. Are we clear?”

Derek swallowed hard and nodded.

The elevator jolted as it pulled to a stop.

Kate unlatched the grate that covered the elevator door and pulled it open, ushering Derek out of the lift.

“And relax,” Kate purred as Derek stepped out into the large drawing room. “He doesn’t bite… often.”

She slammed the grate shut and the elevator rose to the higher floors.

Derek drew in a deep breath, steadying his breathing as he looked around and took in his surroundings. The walls were painted a deep scarlet and covered in photographs and bookshelves that were full or hardcover texts, medical journals and folders labelled and sorted into alphabetical order. At one end of the room was a large fish tank full of fish that were clearly well cared for and at the other end was a fireplace that radiated a warm glow.

Derek stepped closer to the fire, his eyes drawn to the large portrait above the mantle: the portrait of his father and another man.

The other man stepped forward, stopping at Derek’s side and admiring the portrait.

“He was the finest man I’ve ever known,” the man said, his voice reminiscent and sad. After a moment, he straightened his back and turned to face Derek. “I’m Alan Deaton. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Derek.”

He was a middle-aged man with kind, round features, his dark skin glowing in the light of the crackling fire. His chin was covered in neatly groomed facial hair: a light moustache and a goatee. His warm chocolate eyes looked at Derek with unmistakable sympathy and compassion.

Derek shook his hand.

“You knew my father?” Derek asked, bewildered.

“Yes, I met him when we were young men, back when he first moved to California,” Deaton explained. “We stayed friends until the end of his days. He even dragged me along on some of his expeditions. He was a good man, spirited and confident. He spoke of you and your sister often.”

“Funny,” Derek muttered. “He never mentioned you.”

“He knew liked my privacy,” Deaton replied. “How are your mother and sisters? Cora and… Laura, isn’t it?”

“They’re dead,” Derek said solemnly. “My mum and Laura died in a house fire a few years ago… Now it’s just myself and my little sister, Cora.”

“I’m so sorry,” Deaton whispered sympathetically.

There was a moment of silence as Derek stared up at the portrait of his father, remembering all the moments of his childhood he had spent with that man.

Derek finally spoke up, “Deaton, should I be wondering why I’m here?”

“Look on that table,” he instructed, nodding to the nearby stool. On it sat a packaged wrapped in faded brown paper and tied together with twine.

Derek stepped over to the table and picked up the parcel, the glow of the fire lighting the letter that was scrawled in the top corner of the wrapping paper:

 

_For Derek._

_My son, your adventure is soon to begin._

_Stay strong, be brave and finish what I could not._

_With all my love,_

_your father,_

_Robert Hale_.

 

“It’s… It’s from my father,” Derek muttered.

“He brought that to me years ago,” Deaton explained. “Said if anything were to happen to him, I was to give it to you when you were ready… whatever that means.”

Derek pulled the twine from the package and unwrapped the paper, revealing wat was inside: a leather-bound book with strips of silver metal bolted to the cover to maintain its rigid shape and preserve what laid inside. The metal strips crossed the cover, coming into the points of a diamond that circled an ancient spiralling symbol that looked like an eye.

“It can’t be…” Derek gasped. “It’s the Shepard’s Journal.”

Derek turned around, unable to control himself as he blurted out, “Dr Deaton, this journal is the key to finding the lost continent of Atlantis.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, son,” Deaton said, laughing it off.

“No, it’s all here: coordinates, directions, clues.”

“It looks like gibberish to me,” Deaton muttered.

“That’s because it’s written in an ancient dialect that no longer exists,” Derek explained.

“So it’s useless.”

“No,” Derek replied, reading the page. “Just difficult. I’ve spent my whole life studying dead languages, it’s not gibberish to me.”

“It’s probably a fake,” Deaton said dismissively.

“Dr Deaton, my father would have known if this was a fake. I would know. I would stake everything I own on the fact that this is the genuine Shepard’s Journal.”

“Okay,” Deaton said with a smirk, turning and walking towards a large aquarium. “So what are you going to do with it?”

“I’ll… I’ll get funding,” Derek stuttered. “I’ll talk to the museum.”

“They’ll never believe you,” Deaton pointed out.

“I will show them,” Derek said stubbornly. “I will make them believe.”

“Like you did today?”

“Yes… No… Whatever. I will find Atlantis on my own, even if I have to rent a row boat,” Derek shouted.

Deaton’s smirk grew wider.

“Congratulations, Derek,” he said softly. “That is exactly what I wanted to hear. But you can forget the row boat, son.”

Deaton reached across the table and pushed a small red button. The surface of the table pulled back to reveal several models of ships: a submarine, a hot-air balloon, a drill, several caravans, trucks, and canvas tents – the full convoy for an expedition and greater than Derek could have ever imagined.

Derek picked up the small figurine of the hot-air balloon, spinning the small rotatory fan.

“We’ll travel in style,” Deaton said pridefully. “It’s all been arranged, the whole ball of wax.”

“Why?” Derek asked, astonished.

“For years your father bent my ear with stories about that book and Atlantis, I didn’t buy it for a minute. So eventually, I got fed up and made a bet with the old man: I said, ‘Hale, if you find that blasted journal, not only will I fund the whole expedition, but I’ll kiss you full on the mouth’.” Deaton wondered over to a nearby bookshelf and pulled down a framed picture, a photograph of his own face twisted in disgust and Robert’s stunned expression as he held onto the Journal. He passed it to Derek. “It was embarrassing, but to see the smile on your old man’s face when he found that Journal… that made it all worth it.”

“Now, I know your father is gone, Derek - - God rest his soul - - but I am a man of my word,” Deaton said softly.

Deaton turned to look at the portrait above the fireplace, his face falling to a sombre expression as he quietly uttered, “Your father was a great man. Greater than any other man I’ve ever met… Those buffoons at the museum dragged him down and made a joke of him until he died a broken man. If I could bring back just one shred of proof that he was right and they were all wrong, that would be enough for me. I just… I just want to prove him right.”

Derek waited in the silence.

Deaton recovered quickly. “What are we waiting around for? We’ve got work to do.”

“Dr Deaton,” Derek started softly. “In order to do what you’re proposing to do, we’re going to need a crew.”

“Already taken care of,” Deaton announced, handing Derek a folder full of personnel files.

“You’ll need engineers and geologists.”

“Got them all,” Deaton replied. “The best of the best. Isaac Lahey: geology and excavation. Allison Argent: daughter of the original expedition leader, trained with explosives and demolition. Erica Reyes: she’s young and beautiful but don’t let that fool you; she knows more about engineering than you or I will ever know. Vernon Boyd: medical officer. Lydia Martin: communications technician. Chris Argent: military leader and head of the expedition. They’re the same crew that brought the Journal back.”

“Where was it?” Derek asked excitedly.

Deaton picked up a photograph of the crew and the Journal and handed it to the boy as he answered, “Iceland.”

“I knew it,” Derek uttered under his breath.

“All we need now is an expert in gibberish,” Deaton pointed out. “So it’s up to you: you can build on the foundation your father left you, or you can go back to your boiler room.”

Derek slumped down in the chair at the far end of the table.

“This is real,” he whispered breathlessly. “There’s still so much I need to do. I need to quit my job.”

“Already done,” Deaton said. “You resigned this afternoon.”

“My apartment,” Derek pointed out. “I need to give notice.”

“Already done,” Deaton replied.

“My clothes.”

“Packed,” Deaton answered.

“My books.”

“In storage,” Deaton countered.

“My sister.”

“She’s upstairs settling into her new room,” Deaton explained. “I will take care of her until such a time as your return. She will be provided for: food, shelter, education, everything. It’s the least I can do for my godchildren.”

Derek sat back in his chair, running his hands through his tousled black hair and exhaling heavily.

“Your father had a saying: ‘our lives are remembered by the gifts we leave our children’.” Deaton crossed the room and picked up the journal from where it sat on the table, setting it down in Derek’s hands. “This Journal is your father’s gift to you. Remember him through it… Atlantis is waiting. What do you say?”

Derek thought for a moment, looking down at the journal.

He drew in a deep breath and looked up at Deaton.

“I’m your man.”


	3. Chapter 3

The large ocean cruiser glided through the open water, the solid hull pushing the water into foaming waves that dissipated into weak ripples in the wake of the ship.

Derek stood out by the railing, the salty air brushing his face and tousling his hair. He breathed deeply, trying to fight off the waves of nausea that made his stomach churn and his head spin.

The sea was calm, a shimmering pool of sapphire that stretched to the horizon.

“Attention all personnel,” a young woman called over the intercom. “All hands to the launch bay.”

Derek let out a heavy sigh.

This was it; no turning back now.

He made his way down the flight of stairs and onto one of the lower decks, pausing for a moment to check a nearby map of the ship’s layout.

“All hands to the launch bay,” the woman called again. Her voice dropped its sweet tone and sounded dry and unamused as she said, “And to whoever took the L from the Motor Pool sign: ha ha, we’re all very amused.”

Derek made his way onto the engineering deck, watching as cranes hoisted vehicles about. They were all here: the jeeps, the drill, the hot-air balloon and every other vehicle that Deaton had imagined, now in full scale and outfitted with advanced technology.

Sparks flew about the deck as mechanics worked overtime with welders and tools, trying to finish off the last details before launch.

Derek spied a nearby figure, dressed in a heavy black trench coat and boots. They didn’t seem to be with the engineering crew but they walked about the deck and gave orders like someone in charge.

“Excuse me,” Derek called, stepping over to their side. “I was wondering if you could help me find where I’m meant to go.”

The figure turned around, her bright blue eyes focused on Derek.

“Hello again, Derek,” she greeted dryly.

“Kate,” the cook shouted, interrupting them as his cart was lowered onto the even floor of the deck. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

“Hold that thought,” she instructed Derek before swiftly turning to deal with the cook. “What is it now?”

“You’ve gone and stuffed my card full of non-essential garbage. I mean look at this: cinnamon, oregano, cilantro - - what the hell is cilantro?”

“It’s a herb,” Kate replied. “You put it in your cooking to make it edible.”

“And this? What the hell is this?” the cook asked, picking up a lush green head of lettuce.

“It’s lettuce,” Kate answered nonchalantly.

“Lettuce?!” The cook repeated, appalled and horrified.

“It’s a vegetable,” Kate muttered. “The men need the four basic food groups.”

“I’ve got your four basic food groups: beans, bacon, whiskey and lard.”

Kate opened her mouth to reply when a siren blared overhead.

Kate shoved the lettuce back into the cook’s hands and ordered, “Pack it up and move it out. Hale, come with me.”

She led the way to the lower deck, the siren ringing overhead as the young woman – Lydia – announced, “Attention, all hands to the launch bay. Final loading in process.”

Derek was ushered into an elevator full of soldiers, the cart rattling and groaning as it lowered into the launch bay, revealing the magnificent sight of the submarine that was docked in the ship’s hull. Everyone moved about in a bustling crowd, all going about their duties and preparing for the launch.

Derek stumbled out of the lift, his jaw hanging open as he looked up at the ship.

“Hey,” a young woman called from behind him.

Derek turned, looking at her. She had a firm jaw and a fierce glare, her round face framed by the cascading waves of dark curls. Her radiant skin seemed to glow, her dark eyes glistening like gems.

Allison Argent: demolitions.

“If you’re looking for the pony rides and carrousel, they’re back there,” she sneered, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.

Derek stood still for a moment, stunned.

She pushed her trolley full of carts forward, shaking her head and muttering something to herself.

Derek’s eyes fell on the small red stick that rolled across the floor.

“Hey, miss,” Derek called after her, picking up the stick that fell from one of her boxes. “You dropped your… your dynamite.”

She took it from him.

“You’re Allison, right?” Derek asked, matching her youthful face to that in her personnel file.

She nodded.

“What else have you got in there?” Derek inquired curiously, nodding at the boxes she had stacked on her trolley.

“Gun powder, nitro-glycerine, fuses, caps, detonation blocks and paperclips – big ones. You know, office supplies,” she replied and Derek couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

She turned and walked away.

“Derek,” Deaton called from across the launch bay, waving at the young man and ushering him over to his side. “I want you to meet Chris Argent, commander of the ship and leader of the expedition that brought the Journal back from Iceland.”

“Derek,” Chris greeted with a slightly-twisted smile. “It’s an honour to finally meet Robert’s son; he talked of you often. I see you have the Journal. It’s got some nice pictures in it. I’m a fan of crime and westerns myself. Shall we?”

He stepped towards the ship and Derek followed.

Derek stopped by Deaton’s side, hesitating for a moment as he said, “When you settle a bet, you settle a bet.”

Deaton smiled. “Well, your father always said that you couldn’t put a price on knowledge.”

“Well, this is pocket change compared to the knowledge we’re going to find in Atlantis,” Derek said with a slight chuckle.

“Attention all personnel: launch will commence in fifteen minutes,” Lydia announced over the intercom.

“Deaton,” Chris farewelled curtly, marching on-board the ship.

“Goodbye, Dr Deaton,” Derek called as he followed Chris.

“Make us proud, son,” Deaton shouted after him.

The doors closed with thundering booms and revving whirrs. The hatches were sealed and airlocks secured.

On-board the ship, Chris took his place on the bridge and began to give orders. Kate relayed them, instructing the crew to submerge the ship.

The submarine lurched as it dropped into the water. Derek stumbled back, grasping at the railing behind himself as he tried to correct his footing.

The ship wavered slightly before finding its balance and sinking into the depths.

Derek stood still, staring out the window in shock. There was nothing but blue outside, a gorgeous immersion of sapphire and azure that darkened into the depths below.

The ship sank further and further into the deep ocean.

There’s no turning back now.


	4. Chapter 4

When Derek finally composed himself enough to leave the bridge, he made his way down the narrow hallways towards the quarters where he found his bunk.

The small room was dull: the thick metal plating of the walls were a stark white, the confined space was smaller than his bedroom in the apartment. In the room sat two bunk beds with thick metal frames, military grade and regulated. Thin mattresses, rough sheets and blankets that looked starchy and brown, like hessian bags, were fitted into the frames. Beside the door was a wardrobe fitted into the small alcove and on the far wall was a small desk, already full of the medical books and supplies.

Derek dropped his bad by the foot of the bunk and climbed onto the mattress. He yawned as he laid down, fatigue making his eyes heavy.

A lash of blinding light woke him. He thrashed about, trying to get away from the light. He squinted, focusing on the face of the person holding the torch.

“Who are you? Where are you from? What are you doing here?” the young boy asked.

He had sandy blonde curls, bright blue eyes and a slender body.

Isaac Lahey: geologist.

They boy snatched up Derek’s hand, his grip painfully tight on the man’s wrist as he cleaned out the dirt from under Derek’s fingernails and holding it up to the telescopic lens of his goggles.

“The fragments of coal suggest you work by some place with a fire – I’d say coal miner or chimney sweeper, but your hands are far too delicate of it, so my next guess would be a boiler in the basement of the building. The red clay fragments and marble dust suggests a government building, parliament or museum. You live in an apartment with no pets, but there is trace of another person: girlfriend?”

“Sister,” Derek corrected.

The boy turned on him, his face twisted with livid rage as he screamed, “Get out. Out! Out! Out!”

He shoved Derek back into a solid figure.

Derek froze.

He turned around, looking up at the shirtless man with a towel around his shoulders.

He was a young man with dark skin and rounded features.

Vernon Boyd: medic.

“I see you’ve met Isaac,” he said calmly. He looks over Derek’s shoulder at the boy. “Now what have I told you about playing nice with other kids?”

Isaac hissed and leapt back into his bunk, pulling the blanket over his head.

“Boyd,” the newcomer greeted.

“Derek,” Derek replied.

“Derek Hale? You’re my three o’clock. Well, no time like the present.”

Boyd walked over to the medical bag on the small desk, pulling on a clean white shirt and pulling out a sawblade.

Derek swallowed hard.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Boyd boasted. “The catalogue said that this beauty can soar through a femur in three point four seconds. I bet I can cut that time in half.”

To Derek’s relief he put the saw away and picked up a wooden stick. “Stick out your tongue and saw ‘ah’.”

Derek did as instructed, opening his mouth and letting Boyd complete his medical checks. After a minute or two, Boyd announced, “You’re in perfect health.”

Derek opened his mouth to say something when an announcement rang through the speakers, interrupting them. “Derek Hale report to the bridge. Derek Hale report to the bridge.”

Derek nodded, digging through his bag until he found his satchel. He shrugged the leather strap over his shoulder and began to back towards the door.

“Nice meeting you,” he farewelled.

“You too,” Boyd replied.

 

 

Derek made his way back towards the bridge, pausing for a moment at the base of the stairs as his curiosity was drawn to Lydia’s voice in the communications alcove.

“So I asked him ‘what’s wrong with my meatloaf?’ and he says-” A buzzer interrupted her. She sighed dramatically. “Hold on, love, I’ve got another call.”

She flipped a switch on the controls and announced, “Sir, we’re approaching the co-ordinates.”

Derek climbed the stairs and stepped onto the bridge, pulling the Journal from his satchel and holding it closer.

There was a bustle of people as they moved between their posts.

Kate’s voice rang out as she instructed the crew, “Set co-ordinates 2.4.0. Come down fifteen degrees and to the starboard side.”

Chris glanced out the corner of his eye at Derek, nodding curtly as he greeted, “Welcome to the bridge, Mr Hale.”

Chris slung his arm around Derek’s shoulders, guiding him over to a small platform where a few members of the crew were gathered: Allison, Isaac, Kate, and Erica – the head engineer.

Chris turned to them and said, “Alright, crew, I want you to give Mr Hale your undivided attention.”

He stepped away, leaving Derek standing before the judgemental gazes.

Derek swallowed hard, feeling a ball swell in his throat as he heart pounded against his ribs.

Erica glared at him, unamused. Her thick blonde hair was pulled back under a cap and she absentmindedly chewed on a piece of gum. She blew a bubble, popping it and leaning back against the railing behind her.

Allison looked equally unamused, constantly checking her watch as is she had somewhere she’d rather be.

Isaac cowered behind their legs, pretending like he was blending into the shadows while the others ignored him.

“Okay,” Derek started weakly, finding his voice. “According to the Journal there are many dangers ahead of us, one includes a monster that is said to be so dangerous that sailors were driven mad by the mere sight of it.” He turned to the nearby projector, rifling through his satchel until he pulled out a small slide. He fitted it into the slot and watched as the lightbulb cast the image onto the nearby screen. Derek pointed at it and continued his explanation, “This is an illustration of the Leviathan, the creature guarding the entrance to Atlantis.”

“It looks like a lobster,” Erica muttered. “The kind you cook, cover in butter and serve with white wine.”

Derek ignored her and continued, “It’s a mythical sea creature. It’s described in the book of Job and the bible says, ‘out of his mouth goes burning light, sparks of fire shoot out’ but more likely it’ll be a carving or a sculpture to frighten the superstitious.”

“So we get past this monster, then what?” Chris asked.

“When we bypass the creature, we’ll go down into a tunnel and come up in a cave-like area that has a pocket of air. From there we’ll find the remnants of what used to be the highway that lead to the city of Atlantis. It’s like the grease pipe in your sink or the u-bend in your toilet,” Derek explained, pulling the slide from the projector and drawing a small diagram onto the screen.

“Cartographer, linguist, plumber, it’s hard to believe he’s still single,” Kate drolled sarcastically.

“Captain,” one of the crew interrupted. “You should see this.”

Chris turned, looking at the pulsing radar that the man indicated too. The depths were spiking and he had an unclear reading of the surroundings, as if something was obscuring the machine.

“Give me exterior lights,” Chris instructed, stepping away from the presentation and looking out the large glass windows.

The crew did as they were told, turning on the spotlights and watching as the depths of the sea lit up around them. It was a mess of crumbled stone pillars, worn away rocky bluffs, and a graveyard of wrecked ships. Pieces of wood, metal, rock and bone were scattered everywhere.

Derek stepped over to Chris’ side, staring in amazement as he looked out over the wreckage. “There’s ships here from every era.”

A shadow moved about in the darkness, a mechanical groan drifting through the water.

Lydia jolted as a light came up on her switchboard, her headphones buzzing to alert her to it. She flipped the switch, wincing as the sound of static and pitched whines filled her ears.

She tuned into it, turning the dial until the static cleared and the noise became more prominent. Her glittering jade eyes opened with shock as she called out to Chris, “You should hear this, sir.”

“Put it on loud speaker,” Chris instructed.

Lydia flipped the switch and played the audio: a loud mechanical whine that sounded like a whale but unnatural.

“What does your book say?” Chris asked, his voice tense as he tried to hide his fear.

“’Enter the lair of the leviathan and there you will find the gateway’,” Derek recited. “That’s all.”

“It could be a pod of whales,” Kate offered.

“They don’t swim this deep. Even Cuvier's beaked whale can’t dive this deep, not to mention there’s no whales around this area,” Derek replied.

“It’s metallic,” Chris muttered, deep in thought.

“It could be an echo off one of the wrecks,” Kate proposed.

“Is it just me or is that getting louder?” Derek asked.

The sound fell silent.

Everyone waited, their breaths catching in their throats and their heartbeats pounding in their ears.

Nothing.

“Well,” Chris said with a sigh of relief. “Whatever it was, it’s gone.”

The ship lurched forward, throwing everyone around.

Kate and Chris grabbed a hold of the railing pulling themselves up onto the deck as they began to shout orders.

“Load the torpedo bays, sub crew: battle stations!” Kate bellowed.

Allison steadied herself and sprinted down the flights of stairs, shouting orders to the soldiers to ready battle stations

Erica grabbed a desk, quickly bouncing to her feet and sprinting off to the engineering decks. “Out of the way! Get out of my way!”

Derek watched as the inside of the submarine was lit up in a brilliant blue light, fading to a scarlet red. He slowly turned, looking down into the eyes of the beast. He squinted against the glaring light as he gasped and called, “It’s a machine.”

On the engineering decks, Erica pulled the hatches shut and span the wheels until they locked into place. She winced at the sickening sound of men crying for help on the other side as the rushing water caught them and pulled them out into the crushing depths. She fought back the tears that stung her eyes as she sprinted back up to the higher level.

Two of the engineers reached down, pulling her up the ladder and clearing the path so she could run for the intercom.

“Get me the bridge,” she shouted to one of the men.

The ship lurched again as the torpedos jolted them about. The blasts of explosives meeting the metallic beast lit up the portal windows, the flares lighting the dull surroundings.

The beast pulled away from the hull of the submarine. The crew unleashed a barrage of explosives, trying to keep the mechanical horror away from the ship.

The creature shrieked, the cry ear-piercing and deafening as it withered around. It turned, opening its mouth and firing a plasma beam through the centre of the ship.

Erica ducked as screws flew about, bouncing off the wall and hitting the men like bullets, tearing through flesh and bone.

“Seal the hatch!” Erica screamed as the water came flooding in through the lower deck.

Two men nearby shoved the hatch shut and locked it into place.

“Erica,” a technician called, offering her the phone.

Erica snatched it up and shouted into the receiver, “Argent! We took a big hit and we’re taking on water fast. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to be around when that water hits the boilers.”

“How long do we have?” Chris asked.

“Twenty minutes if the blast door holds,” Erica told him.

There was a loud rumble and a thundering boom as the metal buckled and broke.

“Better make that five.”

Chris set down the phone and shouted, “You heard her! Move!”

One of the crewmen grabbed Derek’s arm, pulling him towards the staircase and ushering him to the lower deck.

“Lydia,” Chris called. “Sound the alarm.”

“He packed a bag?” Lydia asked, occupied by her own private phone call. “Sweetie, I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Lydia!” Kate howled, running past her office.

“Dear, I’ve got to go,” Lydia farewelled, flipping the switch and sounding the blaring siren. “I’ll call you back. No, no, no, I’ll call you.”

She hung up and flipped the switch to the intercom, announcing, “All hands, abandon ship.”

She set the message to continuous play and grabbed her go back, leaving the small alcove and running after Kate.

Derek ran through the lower decks, following Boyd, Erica and Isaac as they slid down ladders and sprinted across the metal platforms.

“All hands, abandon ship,” the alarm continued, the deafening siren blaring in his ears.

“Move it people. Sometime today would be nice!” Kate bellowed, shoving them onto the small escape pod. “Grab a seat and buckle in.”

“Kate, get us out of here,” Chris ordered, strapping himself into the co-pilot seat.

“I’m on it,” Kate muttered, pushing at the release lever. The metal rod rattled but did not budge.

“Kate,” Chris growled.

“I’m working on it!” she shouted.

The ship was hit with another plasma blast, hurling them about. A column of fire flooded the lower decks, creeping up on them.

Kate leant back and slammed her boot into the lever. It slammed forward, releasing the pod and hurling them forward. She grabbed the wheel and began to steer them away from the submarine.

“Where to, Mr Hale?” Chris called over his shoulder.

Derek read quickly. “According to the Journal, there should be a crevice somewhere.”

“There,” Chris pointed out.

“On it,” Kate muttered, grabbing the radio. “Attention crew, make your way twenty degrees down angle.”

The fleet of surviving ships corrected themselves and followed her.

The metallic beast span around, its tail colliding with a few of the ships and smashing them into one another or slicing straight through them. The small pods erupted into explosions, the shockwaves knocking them about as they tried to drive onward.

Kate dove into the tunnels, spinning the wheel violently as she tried to navigate the winding pipes.

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the Journal to his chest and trying to remind himself of happier times; of the times his father would tell him fantastical tales of the lost city of Atlantis, of all the times he would squeal with joy as he and his older sister, Laura, ran about the house, of all the time his mother would smile at him, of all the times he would hold his baby sister in his arms and hum to her as he tried to lull her back to sleep.

She was safe, he reminded himself. Dr Deaton would take care of Cora. She’s be okay.

There was a thundering crack. Derek opened his eyes to see the glass of the windscreen crack under pressure.

He held his breath, his heart lurching into his throat as he tightened his grip on the Journal.

The pod lurched as they breached the surface, settling in a small pocket of air.

Chris rose from his seat, opening the top of the pod and looking about the small cavern.

They drove the pod ashore and stepped out onto the solid ground. Before them stood the ruins of an archway that marked the start of their journey. The marble was etched with scripture that glowed a brilliant azure in the darkness. A golden staircase led up to the dark tunnel, each side guarded by the hunched statues of kneeling golems. To each side of the staircase sat toppled statues, broken vases, discarded treasure and crumbling pillars.

Kate and Chris each let out a heavy sigh.

Chris looked around, turning back to the small pond to see several other pods breach the surface.

With a solemn voice that was also full of relief, Chris announced, “We made it.”


	5. Chapter 5

The wavering flame of the candle flickered about, droplets of wax falling down the stick as it was fitted upright in a bowl and set adrift across the shimmering surface of the water. The bowls glided across the dark water, the candles emitting a warm glow as the survivors bowed their heads in remembrance of the soldiers, sailors and crew that they had lost.

The cavern was silent.

Boyd wrapped his arms around Erica’s shoulders and held her close as silent tears fell down her pale cheeks.

“Seven hours ago, we started this expedition with two hundred of the best men and women I’ve ever known,” Chris said solemnly. “We’re all that’s left. I won’t sugar-coat it: we have a crisis on our hands. But we’ve been up this particular creek before and we’ve always come through, paddle or no paddle. I see no reason to change that policy now. So, from now on, everyone pulls double duty. Everyone drives, everyone works.”

Chris tuned, his cold blue eyes focused on Derek as he added, “Our chances of survival now lie with you, Derek. You and that little book.”

Derek looked down at the Journal in his hands, his fingers gently brushing the leather of the spine.

Lydia sneered as she turned away and said, “We’re all gonna die.”

They stood in silence for another moment.

Derek felt the pressure bear down on his shoulders.

“Kate,” Chris called, his voice shattering the silence. “I want this convoy moving fifteen minutes ago.”

Kate nodded and turned, shouting orders that echoed off the walls. “Unload the trucks and supplies. Isaac, you’re driving the drill, take the lead of the convoy. Erica and Boyd, I want you in the lead Jeep. Allison, you’re in charge of weaponry and supplies. Cook, make sure you have enough food and supplies to survive at least two weeks. Load up and get ready to move out in five minutes.”

Derek looked down at the Journal and let out a heavy sigh.

 

 

They drove on through the tunnels, the glow of the headlights lighting the path.

They were surrounded by cave walls, the rock worn away by water over the years, rivulets trickling down through the clay. Beneath the layers of rich earth was concealed marble and colourful tiles, broken mosaics and concealed ruins.

Giant pillars lined the road as they drove on through the tunnel, the jeeps bouncing over lumpy roads and potholes.

They came to a fork in the road, the paths leading into the dark sockets of the eye holes of the skull-like entrance.

Derek stepped out of the truck and inspected the area, flipping through the pages until he found the instructions of how to pass.

“We want to go through the left tunnel,” Derek called to Chris.

The man nodded.

“Why are we letting this inept idiot lead us?” Allison shouted from further down the convoy, climbing out of her truck and storming up to her father’s side. “He’s the reason we went from two hundred men to twenty-three. And now the rest of us are expected to put our lives in his hands and trust that he can read that gibberish? How do we know he’s not just making this up as he goes along?”

“Do you think you could do a better job?” Derek asked.

He held out the Journal for her to take.

“Go ahead,” he dared. “Translate that page and lead the way.”

Allison glared at him.

“Do you know what it says?” Derek asked before translating, “‘Those who venture forth will have a righteous heart, hold their faith and keep their prayers in mind as they gaze upon Stephen; 7:55’, revering to the Bible verse: ‘he, full of the Holy Spirit, gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God’.”

“so, we take the right path; ‘the right hand of God’,” Allison growled.

“No, we walk _to_ ‘the right hand of God’ from the statues point of view, which – for us – is the left path.”

“Return to your Jeep, Allison,” Chris instructed. “Isaac, lead the way.”

Chris hoisted himself back into his own truck.

Derek watched as Allison stormed away, muttering profanities under her breath. His eyes wondered to the fleeting shadows on the walls of the cave. Apelike features scurried along the paths carved into the rock and disappeared into the shadows.

“Hale,” Chris bellowed. “Get in your Jeep. Let’s move.”

Derek stepped back towards his truck, pulling out his small lighter and using the dull light to light the pages of the Journal as he frantically searched for an explanation as to what he saw.

There was nothing about ape-figures or guardians of the caverns, only the torturous paths that lay ahead of them.

Derek let out a heavy sigh and sank back into the old leather seat, jostled by the uneven road as they drove on.

“We’re stopping here,” Chris shouted as the caravan pulled to a halt. “Five minute break and then we keep moving.”

Derek climbed out of his truck and took a flash from one of the men, thanking him quietly. He unscrewed the cap and gulped back the cool liquid.

Allison stepped up to his side, an expression of horror on her face.

“You didn’t just drink that, did you?” she asked.

Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion as he nodded.

“Oh, dear God. That’s not good,” she said in a panicked whisper. “That’s nitro-glycerine. Just… Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t do anything… except pray, maybe.”

Derek froze.

“Boom!”

Derek leapt out of his skin. His heart pounding against his ribs as he heaved in heavy breaths.

Isaac stepped around from behind Derek, walking up to Allison’s side as they doubled over in hysterical laughter. They turned and walked away.

Derek sighed and climbed back into the truck.

Later, when they set up camp, Derek made sure to stay away from the others. Kate and Chris spent their time by the Jeep, talking in private about something that Derek had decided didn’t involve him. Allison, Erica, Boyd and Isaac all sat around the crackling fire, talking and laughing while they prodded the pile of slop the cook dished up onto their plates.

Derek, however, sat by a cave wall, leading against the damp earth and eating small spoonfuls of food while he read the Journal. He carried his own leather-bound journal with him, making small notes about translations and drawing his own diagrams and illustrations.

At dawn – or what they thought was dawn – they set out again, climbing back aboard their trucks and making their further into the caves.

They would stop at each obstacle, letting Derek admire the ruins and make his translations before barging through, blowing up the bases of ancient pillars to make bridges across caverns, or clearing the way through artefacts and breaking walls.

Every now and then, Derek would catch a glance of the fleeting shadows and ape-like figures that darted across the wall. His heart fell into his stomach as he imagined what this looked like for them: invaders coming into their serine land and destroying everything in their path.

Later in their travels they stopped before a large solid wall.

“Looks like we’ve got a road block,” Chris pointed out. “Allison?”

“I can’t blow it up,” Allison replied. “It’ll make the whole thing structurally unsound and could bring the wall down on us, if not the entire cave.”

“Explosives wouldn’t work anyway. It looks to be more than six feet thick and varying between plates of rock and metals,” Derek pointed out, admiring the wall’s composure and the ruins that covered it. “The sheets of metal would disperse the shockwaves and block any heat or fire before giving way. Using explosives would only bury us with falling rubble or drop those stalactites on us.”

Chris looked up at the rocks that Derek gestured too, the razor-sharp points looming ominously overhead.

Allison looked at him in shock, her eyes full of admiration as she nodded in agreement.

“Looks like we’ll have to dig,” Chris said loudly.

Isaac gasped with joy, bouncing up and down in his seat as he started up the engine of his machine and got the drill moving.

Chris, Allison and Derek stepped out of the way as Isaac got to work.

The drill bore through the wall, casting aside the debris of metal shards and crumbling rock. Seconds later the engine began to spark, groan and stall.

The drill fell still and Isaac let out a distressed cry, “Erica!”

The young woman let out a dramatic sigh and stormed forward for her Jeep further down the convoy.

“I don’t understand,” she muttered to herself, pulling open the metal sheet that guarded the boiler that fuelled the machine. “I tuned this up this morning.”

Derek stepped over to her side, looking at the large boiler.

“It looks like the rotor’s shot,” she shouted back at the other engineers. “I’ll have to pull a spare from one of the truck.”

“I could-” Derek stated.

She turned on Derek.

“Don’t touch anything,” she growled threateningly. “I’ll be right back.”

Derek nodded and waited until she was out of sight before he climbed into the back of the truck and crawled up to the boiler. He picked up the wrench she had set aside before leaving and spun the valves and knobs. He waited, listening as the pressure built up before thumping the side of the boiler with the wrench.

The engine sputtered and roared to life again.

Isaac let out screams of joy.

“Hey,” Erica called, fury filling her face as she stormed up to Derek’s side. “What did you do?”

“The boiler in this truck is a Humac 1.0.54.8-13, the one I deal with at the museum is an 8-14, sometimes the pressure builds up and you just need to give it a good whack,” Derek explained as he crawled out the back of the maintenance hatch and shut the doors behind him.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” she growled as she slid the lock back into place.

She turned on Derek, raising a balled flinch.

Derek flinched.

Erica let out a dry chuckle as she snarled, “Two for flinching.”

She slammed her fist into Derek’s arm twice, knocking him back against the truck. She swiftly turned and stormed back to her Jeep.

Derek rubbed his arm, returning to his truck as Chris shouted, “Let’s get going!”


	6. Chapter 6

They drove into a large cavern. The trucks pulled up before a bridge, everyone climbing out of the vehicles to look up at the glowing chandelier-like rock structure that hung over the bridge.

“Why is it glowing?” Erica asked.

“Natural phosphorescence,” Isaac replied.

“We’re making camp here,” Chris announced. “Unpack the Jeeps and set up camp.”

The light above them dimmed as they pulled the tents from the Jeeps and set them aside to be put up later. The cook went to work cooking the toxic sludge he considered to be food while the others went about their normal activities: Kate and Chris talking in private, the others sitting around the fire while Derek sat on his own.

The cook made his way about the group, piling the slop onto their plates before leaving.

Derek forces himself to eat it, focusing on the Journal rather than the slop so that he could fool his mind into eating it.

“We’ve been pretty harsh on the kid,” Boyd muttered to the others. “We should cut him some slack.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Erica sighed. She turned around on the rock she was sitting on and called to Derek, “Hey, Derek, why don’t you come join us?”

“Really?” Derek asked. “You don’t mind.”

“Nah, come sit here.”

Derek picked up the Journal and his own notebook, balancing his plate on top of them as he walked over to the others and sat down on one of the rocks.

“Don’t you ever close that book?” Erica asked. “You must have read it a hundred times by now.”

“Yeah, but this just doesn’t make sense. You see, here it talks about the Shepard talks about something he calls the Heart of Atlantis, which could be the power source that all the legends refer to, but just as he’s about to tell what it is, it cuts off.”

“Mind if I have a look?” Allison asked.

“Uh, sure,” Derek said, passing her the book.

She held it flat and up to the light of the crackling fire, inspecting the spine.

“You’re missing pages,” she announced, pointing out the torn pieces of paper that fit into the grooves between the other pages.

Derek looked heartbroken.

“No,” he whispered, taking it back from her and looking at the fragments of paper. “No, it can’t be.”

“Don’t worry,” Allison said reassuringly. “We’ll find whatever’s missing between those pages.”

 

 

Once they were finished with dinner – having dumped the inedible sludge on the fire to douse it - they set up camp, pitching tents and setting up their sleeping bags.

“Are you going to pitch your tent?” Allison asked.

“I have.”

She scoffed as she looked at the drooping canvas that hung off the wooden stick. She rolled her eyes and made quick work of correcting his tent.

“Thanks,” Derek whispered. “I guess I’m a little rusty. I haven’t gone camping since my father last took me.”

“I never got to meet your father,” Erica said softly. “What was he like?”

“He was a good man, kind and caring. He took care of my sister and I like we were his whole world,” Derek said reminiscently.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Allison muttered as she tied the last knot and secured Derek’s tent. She passed him his sleeping bag before crossing the small space to her tent.

“Well, I have… had two. My dad died before my little sister was born and my older sister, Laura, died when our house caught fire four years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” Erica whispers.

“What about all of you?” Derek asked.

“My father died when I was fourteen, leaving me to fend for my mother and three sisters,” Boyd said quietly. “My mum and I did everything we could to pay my way through medical school and now I send all my pay checks to her to make sure she and my sisters are cared for.

“Erica?” Derek asked. “No offence, but how did a teenager become the chief engineer of a multimillion dollar expedition?”

“I took the job when my father retired,” Erica answered. “This is, my father always wanted sons: one to run his machine shop and the other to be the middle-weight boxing champion. But he got me and my sister instead.”

“So what happened with your sister?”

“She’s 24-none with a shot at the title next month,” Erica said boastfully. “Anyway, I’m saving up so my dad and I can open another shop.” She glanced up as Lydia carelessly strolled through the cluster of tent, dressed in a silk robe. “Did you find your pyjamas, Lydia?”

“I sleep in the nude,” she replied nonchalantly as she walked by.

“Allison?” Derek asked, hastily changing the subject.

“I like the blow things up,” she replied.

“Tell him the truth,” Erica scolded.

“Single child, tyrannical mother and military father,” Allison answered with a shrug. “I was playing in the basement one day and there was a gas leak. It ignited and blew me straight out onto the street. They say it was a miracle I survived, and I figured what doesn’t kill me must be my calling, so it took a course in demolitions and explosives and was recruited into my dad’s team.”

Something scurried past them.

“What about him?” Derek asked, watching as Isaac dove into his tent and buried himself in a cacoon of blankets, chuckling to himself. “What’s his story?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Boyd said. “Erica, don’t tell him. You shouldn’t have told me, but you did. And now I’m telling you: you don’t want to know.”

“Lights out,” Chris called, dousing the lanterns and submerging the camp in darkness.

 

 

In the dark of the night, figures scurried into camp, dressed in large tribal masks and suited in plated armour.

One – the leader – moved diligently through the darkness, making their way towards Derek’s tent. They grabbed the satchel that sat outside his tent door and emptied the contents, pausing to look at the framed photograph. Their fingers brushed over the glass as they admired the portrait of the man, his wife and the two children, all smiling as if there wasn’t a care in the world.

They set it down and burrowed through the bag again, pulling out what they were looking for: the Shepard’s Journal.

They ran their hands over the cover, opening it to one of the pages.

Derek stirred inside the tent, startling them. They quickly put the Journal and the photograph back into the bag and gestured to the others, disappearing into the shadows of the night as Derek emerged from his tent holding a roll of toilet paper and his lighter.

He stumbled slightly as he made his way over to a corner of the cave and unbuckled his belt. He pulled his pants down, ready to relieve himself, when a small bug flitted around his face. He sleepily waved his hand before his face, trying to shoo away the bug.

One bug landed on the roll of toilet paper he had set aside, igniting it.

Derek gasped, rearing back as he turned and looked at the gathering swarm that flew towards the camp.

The bugs landed on the tents, flames engulfing the canvas.

His boots sank into the muddy sludge below him, anchoring him like a nightmare he couldn’t outrun. Smoke and ash filled his lungs, making him cough and gasp breathlessly. His nose was filled with the bitter scent of ash and the rich scent of burning canvas.

A roaring orange glow consumed the camp and sparking the horrific memories of his family’s screams as they were trapped in the burning building. Tendril-like flames flickered as they devoured everything in sight.

The heat of the blaze radiated against his skin, the glow making the beads of sweat glisten on his tan skin and his tears burn as they welled in his eyes.

His heart sank into his stomach. He blinked heavily, the tears falling past his thick lashes and streaking Derek’s cheeks. His vision streaked as he stood still, petrified and helpless as he watched the fire destroyed the house, his house, his home, and the memories of his childhood along with it. Among the flickering flames he could see the fleeting image of his mother dancing about the kitchen with him, he could hear her sweet laughter and soft voice as she read to him. He felt cold, watching the dancing flames devour and destroy everything.

“Fire,” he rasped, his voice weak as it fell past his lips. He swallowed hard, pulling his feet free of the clay as he ran into camp and screamed, “Fire! Fire!”

Everyone dragged their lethargic bodies out of their tents, rubbing at their eyes and looking around in confusion. The radiating heat seemed enough to wake them. They leapt into action, grabbing buckets and following Kate’s instructions as she shouted, “Get some water on that fire!”

“Too late,” Chris bellowed. “Grab what you can and get out of the caves!”

Derek ran back to his tent, snatching up his satchel. He ran towards the Jeeps, turning back to see someone shove aside Allison in their panicked frenzy.

She hit the ground, shielding her head as the others ran past her.

Derek turned and ran back for her, weaving his way through the crowd and over to her side. He grabbed her hand, hurling her to her feet as he shouted, “Come on!”

She stumbled slightly as she followed.

He helped her into the back of a truck, Erica grabbing her hands and pulling her into the back.

Derek thumped the back off the truck and shouted to Boyd, “Go! Go!”

The engine roared to life and the truck began to drive on.

Derek turned and looked back at the camp, making sure everyone was clear of the blaze before he turned and ran after the convoy.

“Derek, jump,” Erica shouted, reaching out the back of their truck as they drove by.

Allison was back to her normal self, her arm extended for him to grab.

Derek leapt forward, grabbing their hands as they pulled him into the back of the truck.

The fire caught onto the truck behind them, setting the Jeep ablaze as it exploded and erupted into a fireball.

The shockwave knocked the rocky chandelier free of the ceiling. It plummeted, striking the bridge with enough force to break it.

Derek slid backward, Erica and Allison struggling to keep a hold of him as the Jeeps revved their engines and struggled to drive up the crumbling bridge.

The drill’s engine stalled, the large vehicle rolling backward and collecting the other trucks as it fell.

The cars rolled backwards.

Erica and Allison lost their grip on Derek.

They fell into the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Chris’s voice broke the darkness, “Alright. Who’s not dead? Sound off.”

The darkness was filled with pained groans as, one-by-one, they said their names.

“Erica,” she rasped, moaning as she rolled onto her side.

“Boyd,” he called into the darkness, quiet with shock.

“Isaac,” the boy chirped before falling silent again.

“Allison,” she answered, reaching for Erica who was by her side.

“Kate,” the woman answered, seemingly unperturbed.

“Lydia,” she seethed.

“Good,” Chris said, flicking on his lighter. “Erica, Boyd, status report.”

The small flickering flame lit her way as she leant into the cabin of one of the Jeeps and flicked on the headlights. The bright beams lit their surroundings as she began to inspect the machines and Boyd looked around at the other members of the crew.

“Not as bad as it could have been. The jeeps are wrecked but the drill looks like it could still operate with some minor fixes,” Erica announced.

“Minimal injured,” Boyd reported. “A few, bumps, cuts and bruises but, lucky for us, we landed on something soft.”

“Ash,” Isaac piped up. “It seems that we’re sitting in the base of a dormant volcano.”

Everyone fell silent, looking at one another in fear.

Kate drew her flare gun from the small of her back and fired it into the air.

They watched as it fizzed and withered, climbing higher and higher up the cavern.

“It doesn’t end,” she muttered.

The flare burst, lighting their surroundings and revealing the sealed roof of the volcano.

“Okay, up isn’t an option,” Chris muttered. “Hale, how do we get out of here?”

There was no reply.

“Hale?” Chris called again, only to be met with silence.

Everyone looked around, wide eyes darting about the dully lit surroundings as they looked for him.

“Derek?”

 

 

Derek stirred, blinking his weary eyes as his body was paralysed by the rush of pain. He grunted and whimpered as he opened his eyes, his blurred vision clearing and coming into focus as he looked at the large tribal masks that loomed over him.

Their hushed voices muttered an ancient dialect but Derek could pick up a few words here and there: one good man, traveller, hurt, needs help, and a couple of other fragments that his concussed head couldn’t string together logically.

One of them stepped forward, tipping the frame of Derek’s glasses with the end of their spear.

Derek tried to rear back but winced with searing pain, the burning agony rushing through his veins and leaving him convulsing and panting.

He glanced down at his shirt. His shoulder was dislocated and covered in blossoming patches of red and purple as bruises formed on his tan flesh, and thick streams of blood poured from his forehead, lip and chest. His shirt was stained with blood and ash.

Hot tears welled in his eyes as he threw his head back.

The leader of the pack stepped forward and lifted their mask, revealing the face of a young man. He was only a few years younger than Derek, with shimmering amber eyes and a pointed nose. His face was painted with sky-blue war paint, two curved lines starting at the outer corner of his eye and drawn in towards his nose. His pale skin was covered in moles that charted constellations across his flesh and his rosy pink lips quivered around silent words as if he were mouthing his thoughts. His short chestnut brown hair was tousled and tossed about his face, his eyes warm and full of worry as he looked at Derek’s wounds.

He leant forward and caressed Derek’s wounds with his slender fingers, his touch ever so gentle as he examined the man’s condition.

He reached for the glowing azure crystal that hung around his neck and laid it against Derek’s chest, cupping his hand over it and holding it to the man’s skin.

Derek winced, trying to pull away as he expected pain and death. But instead all that came was cool rush of relief. The crystal began to glow brighter, the light seeping through the young man’s fingers.

He pulled his hand back and Derek looked down at his chest. There were no bruises or dislocated joints, there were not cuts or wounds, there was only a glowing handprint that faded like fog on a mirror.

Derek let out a heavy sigh, looking up at the young man with shock and bewilderment as he whispered, “Thank you.”

The young man nodded.

Derek opened his mouth to say something else when the young man turned, his eyes frantically searching his surroundings. He pulled his mask down again, turned and fled, the others following.

“Hey, wait,” Derek called after them, scrambling to his feet and racing after them.

He scaled the brick walls and climbed over fallen piles of rubble and boulders. He ran along the small tunnelling paths that were threaded through the caves, following the sound of their footsteps.

“Who are you?” Derek shouted as he ran after them. “Where are you going?”

His feet wheeled beneath him as he sprinted across the rocky paths. He felt his blood course through his veins, not a single hint of pain in his body.

“What did you do to me?” Derek asked.

It was useless; they knew this land too well, they had memorised ever footfall and rocky escape path, every route to shake followers and disappear into the shadows.

Derek leapt through an opening, bursting into the light as screamed, “Who are you?!”

He pulled to a halt on the lush green pinnacle overlooking the landscape, falling silent as his gaze fell upon the mesmerising sight.

The ground began to shake beneath Derek’s feet as the walls behind him began to crumble, the drill piercing the rock and destroying everything in its path. The engine whirred as it powered down and the surviving crew climbed out.

Their eyes were drawn to the wondrous sight before them, gobsmacked as they stared at the serine view: the waterfall that coursed like a falling veil of lace – wavering between shades of pale blue and foaming pearly white - surrounding the ruins of an ancient city. Splintered wood, rubble and boulders that were piled where once-proud-standing guard towers, pillars, fences and houses had been. Some structures remained standing, covered in lush green clumps of moss, grass, and climbing vines of jasmine and ivy. The land was flooded, leaving only the elevated island in the middle to be inhabitable among the archipelagos.

“We made it,” Erica gasped.

“It real,” Derek whispered.

There was a loud thud as the masked figures dropped down from the rocky cliff, landing on the hard earth and on the metal plating of the drill. Their weapons were raised and defensive as they circled the group.

“Who are these guys?” Chris asked, drawing his pistol as Kate drew hers.

“No, no, don’t,” Derek said frantically, stepping in front of them and holding his arms out defensively.

The leader stepped forward, saying something in his native language that seemed somewhat threatening.

Derek made a quick translation of the Atlantean dialect, catching fragments of the sentence that amounted to “Who are you strangers and where do you come from?”

Isaac gently pushed Derek forward. “I think they’re talking to you.”

He had studied the language, he could read it flawlessly, but speaking was a whole other struggle.

Derek swallowed hard, turning around to face them as he tried to annunciate a translation that roughly meant, “We are peaceful travellers. Who are you and where are you from?”

The leader took off his mask, setting it aside and revealing his face as he stepped forward and spoke again.

Derek winced, his head pounding as he tried to think of what to say in response.

The young man shook his head and rolled his eyes, opting for another language, “Stii sa vorbesti romaneste?”

Romanian, Derek identified. Another language he knew when reading but could only speak a few key phrases.

“A bheil Gàidhlig agad?” Derek asked in Scottish Gaelic.

The young man raised his eyebrows, looking at Derek with amusement and admiration.

“Ξερεις να μιλας Ελληνικα?” he asked, as if testing Derek.

Greek, Derek recognised.

Derek played along and countered, “Parlez-vous français?”

The young man smiled and replied, “Oui, moiseur.”

“They speak my language!” Isaac cheered, leaping forward. He ushered the leader closer and whispered something in his hear.

The young man’s face twisted with rage as he pulled back and slammed his fist into Isaac’s face, knocking him backwards.

Boyd applauded him.

“About time someone did it,” Erica muttered. “I’m just mad it wasn’t me.”

The others who encircled them lowered their masked and began to talk quietly to one another.

“How do they know all these languages?” Allison asked, amazed.

“Their language must be based on a root dialect,” Derek deducted.

“Maybe English is in there somewhere,” Chris said. He stepped forward and spoke up, “My name is Chris and this is my crew. We are explorers from the surface world. We come in peace.”

“I am Stiles. Welcome,” the young leader them replied, his English firm and articulated. “We welcome you all to the city of Atlantis.”

Stiles stepped forward, grabbing Derek’s hand excitedly as he said, “Come. You must speak with my father.”

Stiles lead the way, running with Derek across the rope bridge as, behind them, Chris gave orders for a few members of the surviving soldiers to head back and salvage what they can while the other went ahead.

The crew climbed into the Jeep and made their way across the rickety rope bridge and into the legendary city.


	8. Chapter 8

The truck drove on through the streets of the city.

Kate looked out the window at the faces of the people who watched on with shock and excitement.

“There wasn’t meant to be people down here,” she uttered under her breath to her brother. “This changes everything.”

“This changes nothing,” Chris said firmly.

They pulled up to a halt when the streets grew too narrow, climbing out of the Jeep and walking up to the secluded palace. The large gates opened to reveal a pond full decorated with lily pads and budding flowers. The calm, glistening pool of water was broken by the slats laid out in some sort of asymmetrical, spiralling pattern.

Across the pond was an alfresco sitting area with a lavish lounge upon which sat an elderly man, the king of Atlantis.

“Greetings, your highness,” Stiles said in his own language, bowing respectfully. “I have brought visitors.”

“You know the law, Stiles,” the king replied in their dialect, turning his unseeing, smoky grey eyes to the boy. “No outsiders may see the city and leave.”

Derek did his best, listening to their conversation and translating it in his head before jotting down the notes of translations in his notebook.

“Father,” Stiles said, his tone somewhere between scolding the man and pleading him. “These people may be able to help us.”

“We don’t need their help,” the man growled.

“Father,” Stiles pleaded.

“We’ll discuss this later.”

Chris stepped forward and spoke up, “Your majesty, on behalf of my crew I would like to say how wondrous it is to be welcomed into your city.”

The king, speaking English, replied, “You presume much to think you are welcome here.”

This doesn’t faze Chris. “Sir, we have come a long way looking for-“

“I know what you seek and you will not find it here. Your journey has been in vain,” the king announced.

“We are peaceful explorers,” Chris said in a sickeningly twisted tone. “We are men of science-“

“And yet you bring weapons,” the king added.

Chris flinched, feeling the weight of his pistol in its holder.

“Our weapons allow us to move obstacles we may encounter,” Chris explained.

“Some obstacles cannot be moved with a mere show of force,” the king replied. “Now, return to your people; you must leave Atlantis at once.”

“May I respectfully request that we be allowed to stay in your city for one night?” Chris asked. “That will give us time to rest and recover from our journey so that we may then be on our way.”

The king sighed, considering it for a moment, “Fine. One night. That is all.”

Chris bowed. “Thank you, your majesty.”

Chris turned and left, Kate following.

Derek glanced over his shoulder at Stiles, the young man standing before the raised platform with his head bowed. He sighed and followed Chris and Kate back out of the palace gates.

Stiles glanced out the corner of his eye and watched as they left.

The king sighed again, his voice soft and weary as he called to his son, “You heart has softened, Stiles. A thousand years ago you would have slain them on sight.”

“A thousand years ago the streets were lit and our people did not have to scavenge for food on the outskirts of a crumbling city,” Stiles argued, stepping up onto the platform and lighting the lamp that hung over his father’s couch with his crystal.

His father reclined in the chair. “Our people are content.”

“Because they do not know any better,” Stiles replied. “We were once a great people and now we live in ruins. The kings of our past would weep if they could see how far we have fallen. These outsiders might be able to help us learn our past so that we can save our future.”

Stiles reached for a damp cloth in the bowl by the couch. He ringed it out and gently patted the sweat from his father’s weary brow.

“What these outsiders have to teach, we already know,” the old man rasped.

“I have seen him, the one they call Derek,” Stiles said insistently. “I have seen the way he respects our culture, how he tries to save what little we have left.”

“That will change,” his father warned. “They’re all the same: creatures of greed. They have no interest in our culture, our lives or our future.”

“We need their help,” Stiles cried.

“We need nothing from them!”

“Our way of life is dying,” Stiles said, the words paining as he absentmindedly reached for the crustal that hung around his neck.

“Our way of life is preserved,” his father replied.

The young man bowed his head.

“Stiles,” his father said softly, reaching forward to cup his son’s cheek. “When you take the throne you will understand.”

“I just to believe that there’s still something good out there,” Stiles whispered as he set the cloth down and rose to his feet. “Mum would have believed that… She would have believed me.”


	9. Chapter 9

“How’d it go?” Boyd asked as Chris, Kate and Derek emerged from the palace gates.

“Well, the king and his son don’t exactly see eye to eye,” Derek explained. “His son trusts us but the king… I don’t know. I think he’s hiding something.”

“If he’s hiding something, I want to know what it is,” Chris growled.

“Someone needs to talk to the boy,” Kate said.

“I will do it,” Isaac volunteered, holding his hand up eagerly.

“Someone who’s good with people,” Boyd added.

“I volunteer,” Isaac said again.

“Someone who won’t scare him away,” Lydia added.

“I will do it,” Isaac repeated.

“Someone who knows the language,” Allison added.

Isaac stood proud. “For the good of the mission I will go.”

“Thank you for volunteering, Derek,” Chris said, patting him on the shoulder and shaking the young man from his trance.

Derek looked up from the notes in his leather-bound book, stunned and confused as he looked about the faces of the crew.

They smirked at him as they turned and walked by, ignoring Isaac as he wailed and thrashed about.

Allison wound her arms around his shoulders and walked him away.

“Wait,” Derek muttered. “What?”

“Go get him, fighter,” Erica teased as she walked past him, gently nudging his arm with her elbow as she left.

 

 

Derek watched as Stiles exited the palace grounds, closing the large doors behind him and stepping out into the narrow street that led back into town. Derek ducked back behind the pillar and practiced what he was going to say, “I have a few questions for you and I’m not leaving this city until I have answers.”

He drew in a deep breath and turned around glancing out into the street.

Stiles was gone.

The shadows shifted as the young man stealthily dropped down behind him. In one swift motion, he pinned Derek to the pillar and cupped his hand over his mouth before Derek could cry out in shock.

“I have a few questions for you and you are not leaving this city until I have answers,” Stiles hissed.

 

 

Stiles led the way to a secluded place, somewhere off the trail, near a small waterfall: a rocky cavern hidden by curtains of vines and sheets of water. They crawled through small passageways that were carved out of pillars and statues, toppled ruins forming bridges and tunnels. Large boulders sheltered the small hollow and concealed the small cavern.

“I have so many questions about your world,” Stiles admitted excitedly. “You are a scholar, are you not? Your intelligence and linguistic skills would suggest so, but your physique would make you fit for many occupations.”

He turned around, watching as Derek climbed down into the hollow. He reached forward and took Derek’s glasses off his face, peering through the lenses and admiring the difference in his perception of the world.

Derek blinked a few times, looking around at his surroundings. Everything was clear, crisp. He could see perfectly.

Stiles handed back the glasses and Derek put them in his satchel.

“What is your country of origin?” Stiles asked, walking further into the hollow. “When did the flood waters recede? When did you-“

“Wait,” Derek interrupted, catching Stiles’ hand and meeting his gaze. “I’ve got a few questions for you too, so why don’t we take it in turns? You know, you ask me a question, then I ask you a question, then you ask me one, then me, then you, then me, then you, etcetera.”

Stiles nodded. “Very well, what is your first question?”

“How did you get here?” Derek asked. “I mean, not you personally but your culture. How did all of this end up down here?”

Stiles’ face fell, his eyes darkening as he explained, “It is said that the gods became jealous of Atlantis and sent a cataclysm that banished us here. All I can remember is the sky going dark, people shouting and running, my mother letting go of my hand, and my father holding me close. Then there was this bright light – like a star – floating above the city. My father said it called my mother to it… I never saw her again…”

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. “If it’s any consolation. I lost my mother too – and my dad – so I know what it feels like to... Wait, you were there? No, that’s impossible. That would make you-” He did the math in his head. “-nine- _thousand_ -years-old.”

“Yes,” Stiles replied nonchalantly.

“Wow,” Derek whispered, stunned. “You look good.” He cleared his throat and tried to continue the conversation, “Do you have a question for me?”

“Yes,” Stiles replied. “How is it _you_ found this place?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Derek admitted. He dug into his satchel and pulled out the Shepard’s Journal. “If it wasn’t for this book, we never would have made it.”

Stiles snatched the book, opening it to a random page and looking at the scripture that covers the pages. Atlantean.

“Okay, second question, legend has it your people possessed a power source of some kind-“

“You can understand this?” Stiles interrupted.

“Yeah, I’m a linguist, I understand things, that’s my job,” Derek explained.

“This, right here!” Stiles said, holding the book to Derek’s face and pointing at the Atlantean script on the page. “You can read this?”

“Yes, I can read Atlantean, just like you,” Derek replied.

Stiles pulled back, looking down at the book with a sorrow-filled expression.

Derek paused, realising why Stiles had asked.

“You can’t, can you?” he asked.

“No,” Stiles admitted. “No-one can. Such knowledge has been lost to us since the time of the flood.”

Derek swallowed hard.

“Show me,” Stiles said excitedly, a bright smile lighting his face as he passed the book back to Derek.

Derek began to read in Atlantean while Stiles translated it to English, “Follow the narrow path for another league there you will find the fifth marker.”

“How was my accent?” Derek asked.

“Boorish, sluggish, and you tend to speak it through your nose,” Stiles replied bluntly.

Derek nodded. “Got it. I’ll work on that.”

Stiles smiled, looking at Derek as if he were trying to work something out. After a moment, he grabbed Derek’s wrist and began to drag him towards the hollow. “Let me show you something.”

He guided him through the forest that had overrun the city, marble tiles lining their path as Stiles led him towards a blanket-covered shape. He tore back the sheet, revealing a strangely fish-shaped mechanical construction.

“It looks like some kind of vehicle,” Derek mused as he stepped forward to admire the fine work.

“Yes,” Stiles replied. “But no matter what I try, I cannot get it to start.”

“Okay, let’s see what we have here,” Derek said, reading the inscription around the flat control pad. “’Place your crystal into the slot’.”

“Yes, I did that.”

Derek nodded and read, “’Gently place your hand on the inscription pad’.”

“Yes.”

“Did you turn the crystal half way to the right and then one quarter turn back-“

“Yes, yes, yes,” Stiles said, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

“- _while_ your had was in on the inscription pad?”

“Ye- -,” Stiles paused. “No.”

“Give it a try,” Derek said encouragingly, stepping back from the vehicle so that Stiles could try. He watched as Stiles lifted his necklace over his neck and reached forward. He followed the instructions, sliding the crystal into the slot, placing his hand on the inscription pad, then turning the crystal forward then back again.

The light of his crystal seeped into the carved grooves of the inscription as the eyes lit up. The machine whirred as it powered up, jerking slightly as it rose off the ground and hovered before them.

“Woah,” Stiles and Derek gasped in unison, admiring the ship.

Stiles reached forward, curiosity winning him over as he pressed a finger to the inscription pad.

The ship took off at an incredible speed, bouncing off the walls of the cavern. Fragments of rock were hurled about the space.

Derek grabbed Stiles, pulling him to the ground as he dove over him and shielded the young man from the scattered debris.

The ship flew over their heads, the following rush of air disturbing their clothes and tousling their hair.

The ship crashed into the wall, whirring and sparking as it fell still.

The two young men looked up, chuckling breathlessly.

Stiles leapt to his feet.

“Come,” he said excitedly. “There is more to see.”

Stiles led the way back out of the cavern and across the large city. He showed off fantastical sights of culture: men standing on stilts to spearfish in the deep waters, others rowing out in boats and hurling in nets of lobsters. On the shore, families set up stalls, selling jewellery and pots.

Stiles guided Derek through the markets, stopping to talk to a young man who was getting tattooed with two stripes that formed a ring around his bicep.

“A lot of people have tattoos,” Derek pointed out. “Is this part of your culture?”

“Do you know what the word ‘tattoo’ means?” Stiles asked.

“In Tahitian it means ‘to mark something’,” Derek answered.

Stiles nodded. “In Samoan, it means ‘open wound’, and so – in our culture – tattoos are used as a means of closing those wounds.”

Derek thought, his heart aching as he thought of his open wounds: his broken family, his lack of purpose and his sense of emptiness and lack of some place he could fit in, a place he could call his home.

Stiles gently tugged at his hand.

“Come,” he said softly. “There is still something I must show you.”

He led Derek to a large, towering statue of a golem covered in vines and moss.

Stiles began to climb, his feet falling in the memorised foot holes and hand grips as Derek followed him. Stiles made it look effortless, reaching the top in no time. He stopped and reached back for Derek, helping him up onto the head of the golem.

Derek froze, overlooking the city.

It was breathtaking, the flooded ruins so full of life. The sea of azure stretching across the city, decorated with vines, lilies and blossoming, colourful flowers. The scintillating waters were full of life, schools of fish swarming beneath the surface and darting under the ruins.

The breeze blew through his hair like a soft whisper.

Derek’s face fell, warm tears welling in his eyes as his heart sank into his stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, panicked by the sorrow in Derek’s eyes.

“Nothing,” Derek replied. “My dad used to tell my sister and I stories of this place for as long as I can remember… I wish he could see this.”

 

 

Stiles and Derek stayed atop the golem for hours, talking and laughing as they looked across the magical sight of Atlantis from their vantage point. Eventually, they climbed down and made their way back into the city.

Children giggled and ran through the streets. One ran up to Derek’s side.

Derek hoisted the child onto his shoulders and carried him towards to the nearby tower where everyone was gathering to eat.

While they’re occupied, soldiers in gas masks and thick canvas suits arrived, unloading crates from the backs of their trucks. They grabbed crowbars, wedging the end in the gaps before tearing them open. The crates were full of gins that were passed around as the men and soldiers readied themselves for a fight.


	10. Chapter 10

After dinner, when the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and darkness had settled over the city, Stiles led Derek to a secluded lake that was concealed by a waterfall. The surface of the water was disturbed by small ripples as the trickling streams of water caressed the rocky walls and pillars before dropping into the shimmering depths. The lake was covered in delicate lily pads and budding flowers, the gleaming surface of the pond glittered as it reflected the light of the fireflies that hovered over the water.

Derek held his hand out over the water, waiting for one of the fireflies to land on his extended finger.

The small bug flittered down, buzzing slightly as it shook its wings and settled on his hand. He smiled and chuckled breathlessly as it began to crawl up his arm and tickle him.

“These guys are kind of cute when they’re not swarming into a fiery colony of death,” Derek whispered.

Derek put his hand on his arm and guided the bug onto his fingers. He passed it to Stiles who put it in a lantern, closing the lid and wedging the pole in between a cluster of rocks to hold it upright.

“You know, Stiles, when we started this exhibition, we were hoping to find so broken buildings, ruins and maybe some pottery,” Derek admitted. “Never in our wildest dreams did we think we’d find a living, thriving society.”

“We are not thriving,” Stiles said solemnly. “True, our people are alive, but our culture is dying. We are like a stone that the ocean beats against; with every passing year, a little bit more of us is washed away.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” Derek whispered.

“Maybe you can. I brought you here to ask for your help,” Stiles admitted. “There is a mural here with writing all around the pictures.”

“Well, you came to the right guy,” Derek said boastfully as he turned to admire a nearby fallen column. He ran his fingers over the rock, brushing aside dust and moss as he exposed the carved ruins. “We’ll start here. This is a band of scripture that….”

His voice trailed off as he turned around to look at Stiles, his eyes wide with shock as he saw the boy strip off his clothes.

Stiles untied the knot on his shoulder that held his toga up, dropping the soft blue fabric away from his translucent skin. His pale flesh was dotted with moles that charted constellations across his body. His skin was marred with a few pink scars.

He didn’t seem to notice the affect he had on Derek as he shrugged off the fabric before untying the sash around his waist and kicking off his pants. He stood before Derek, his bare chest exposed and the glowing golden light of the lantern lighting his toned abs as he stood before Derek in nothing more than his briefs.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Derek stammered, his cheeks flushed with a bright blush as he tried to avert his eyes from the boy’s gorgeous body.

“You do swim, right?” Stiles asked.

“I swim pretty guy – pretty good, I swim pretty good,” Derek replied.

“Good, because it is a fair distance to where we are going,” Stiles told him, turning his back to Derek and wading into the water. He lowered his body into the water, paddling in the shallows before turning back to Derek and looking at him expectantly.

Derek snapped out of his trance, quickly stripping off his shirt, boots and pants before following Stiles into the water.

He looked at Stiles, noticing the mischievous smirk on his face as he licked his lips tantalisingly.

“Ready?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded.

Stiles turned and dove into the water, his crystal necklace lighting their way as they swam through the ruins. The bright azure glow lit space, revealing the tumbled columns, crumbled buildings and ruins that the sea life inhabits. Small schools of fish swam through the broken windows and out through holes in the roof, circling around the plants that grew among the marble, concrete and piles of rubble and rock.

Stiles and Derek came up for air in a small pocket beneath a toppled mausoleum.

“Are you alright?” Stiles asked, taking a second to steady his breathing.

“Well, I didn’t drown, so I’d say I’m alright,” Derek replied, pushing his wet hair out of his face.

“Good, follow me,” Stiles instructed, taking a deep breath and diving back down into the depths.

Derek followed.

Stiles led him to a mural, gems and mirror-like tiles glittering among the mosaic patterns. It depicted a star-like shape and towering statuesque guards, all surrounded by scripture.

Derek swam forward and quickly read it. He turned to look at Stiles, gesturing up as they swam back up to the small pocket of air.

“It’s amazing,” Derek gasped as they burst into the air. “It’s the whole history of Atlantis.”

“The star in the sky, the one that took my mother, what does it say about that?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t know yet, but we’re going to find out. Come on.”

They dove down again, swimming into the depths and up to the mural. Derek read the scripture that was laid into the mural with small black tiles and comparing it to the mosaic images of golems that spread shields of light, guided by a glowing star above the city. In the next image, the light spread out into glowing beams seemed to hunt the people. Among the people of the crows were kings of the past, the light erupting from their chests and rising into the star as their souls were pulled from them.

Derek turned. He reached over to Stiles, his fingers brushing the crystal that floats before young man’s face. He pointed at it and then up at the air pocket.

They resurfaced to talk.

“The Heart of Atlantis,” Derek gasped.

“What?”

“The Heart of Atlantis. That’s what the Shepard was talking about, it wasn’t a star, it was a crystal, like these.” He picked up Stiles’ necklace, holding the crystal before Stiles’ face as he explained, “The power source I’ve been looking for, the bright light you remember, they’re the same thing.”

“It can’t be,” Stiles muttered.

“It’s what’s keeping everything alive: you, your father, the whole of Atlantis.”

“Then where is it now?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “You’d think something this important would be in the Journal, but –” His voice faltered. He thumped his fist against the surface of the water, splashing Stiles slightly as he growled, “Damn it. The missing page...”

 

 

They swam back to the small lagoon, resurfacing in the peaceful quiet of the lake.

Derek burst into the air, grabbing the rocky ledge before him. He froze, his hand falling on something cold and smooth. He looked up at it, catching a glimpse of his own reflection in the polished black leather of Chris’s boots.

He looked up, meeting Chris’ icy cold glare.

“Did you have a nice swim?” Chris asked with a cynical smirk.

Derek’s gaze wandered to the figures that stood behind him: the members of the crew were gathered behind him, many of them heavily armed.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked suspiciously, running his hand down his face to wipe away the droplets of water that clung to his skin. “What’s with all the guns? … Guys?”

His words caught in his throat as he realised what was happening. He thumped his head with his hand and hissed, “I’m such an idiot. This is just another treasure hunt for you, isn’t it? You’re after the crystal.”

“You mean this?” Chris asked, holding up the missing page of the Journal. His eyes were drawn to the illustration in the centre of the page that depicted the crystal – the Heart of Atlantis – surrounded by carved token that looked like the heads or faces of the kings of the past.

“The Heart of Atlantis,” Derek muttered.

“I would have told you about it sooner, but it was on a strictly need-to-know basis, and well, now you know,” Chris drolled. “I had to be sure you were one of us.”

He stepped forward and extended his arm to Derek, offering the young man his hand. “Welcome to the club, son.”

Derek pulled back, glaring at Chris as he shook his head and defiantly said, “I’m no mercenary.”

Stiles surfaced.

Derek turned to warn him when a guard grabbed Stiles by his hair, dragging his thrashing body out of the water.

Stiles gasped and yelped but quickly recovered, grabbing the guard’s head and hurling him over his shoulder. The guard toppled into the water with a loud splash. Stiles turned to run, kneeing another guard in the gut and hurling him aside. He grabbed the gun of another and wrestled with him, knocking the masked man to the ground. Stiles pounced on him, drawing his own knife and raising his hand high above his head when a shot is fired.

The echoing boom of the gun trailed off into the quiet night as Stiles froze and looked at where the knife had been tossed aside. He slowly turned and looked at Chris in horror as the man directed the smoking barrel at Stiles.

Two guards leapt forward and grabbed Stiles, hooking their arms under him and leaving him unable to fight as they dragged him back.

Stiles thrashed about, growling as he kicked the downed guard in the groin. His feet wheeled beneath him as he stumbled back, falling weakly into the arms of the men in gas masks.

“‘Mercenary’?” Chris continued as if nothing had happened. “I prefer the term ‘adventure capitalist’. Besides, you’re the one who lead us here. You brought us right to the treasure chest.”

“You don’t know what you’re tampering with, Argent,” Derek growled, climbing out of the water.

“What’s to know?” Chris asked rhetorically. “It’s big, it’s shiny, and it’s going to make us all rich.”

“You think it’s some kind of a diamond, I thought it was some kind of a battery, but we’re both wrong,” Derek tried to explain. “It’s their life force. That crystal is the only think keeping these people alive. If you take that away, they’ll die.”

Chris passed the missing page of the Journal to Kate. “Now that changes things. Kate, what do you think?”

“Knowing that, I’d double the price,” she said with a smirk.

“I was thinking triple,” Chris replied.

“Argent, don’t do this!” Derek begged, his voice breaking under the strain.

“Academics,” Chris said dismissively. “They’re never pleased. Think of it this way, Derek, if you returned every stolen artefact in a museum, you’d be left with an empty building. We’re just providing a necessary service to the archaeological community.”

“Not interested,” Derek growled.

“I’ve got to admit, I’m disappointed,” Chris muttered. “You’re an idealist, just like your father. Do yourself a favour, Derek, don’t be like him. For once, do the smart thing.”

Derek glared at him.

“If you fill your head with ideal thoughts of a world living in harmony, where every story has a happy ending, then the only thing that will be in your head is a bullet,” Chris threatened.

Derek’s heart sank, his gut churning as he swallowed hard against the growing lump in his throat.

Chris levelled his gaze with Derek and repeated, “Don’t be like your father.”

“You bastard!” Derek leapt from the water. He lunged at Chris, his fist balled.

The man stepped aside and dodged Derek’s advance.

Kate swung her leg around, kicking Derek in the gut and dropping him to the ground.

Derek couched and spluttered, keeling over as he groaned in pain.

Chris sighed and shook his head. “I really hate it when negotiations go sour.”

He snapped his fingers and one of the guards shoved Stiles to the ground, keeping him pinned beneath the sole of their boot with a shotgun pressed to the back of the boy’s head.

“Stiles,” Derek gasped, reaching forward for the young man.

The guard cocked the gun and Derek froze.

Chris crouched before Derek and held up the page. His husky voice was calm and level as he said, “Let’s try this again.”


	11. Chapter 11

The palace doors caved in with an explosion, pieces of rubble and debris cast aside as the few members of the crew barged onto the grounds.

The guards tightened their grips on the spears, lowering the carved metal ends and readying themselves to fight.

“Tell them to drop their weapons,” Kate ordered, pressing the barrel of her gun to the small of Stiles’ back.

Stiles hissed, trying to arch away from the gun. He glared at her and muttered obscenities in Atlantean.

The king called to his men, instructing them in Atlantean.

The guards hesitated for only a second before setting down their spears.

“Spread out,” Kate shouted. “Search everywhere.”

The crew and men in gas masks and thick suits began to search the palace, tipping over plates, tearing down curtains, smashing vases and destroying everything in sight in an attempt to find the ‘grand crystal’—the Heart of Atlantis.

“It’s not here,” one of them cried.

Chris grabbed Derek’s arm, dragging him forward and holding the Journal and the missing page before his face.

“You’re not applying yourself,” Chris accused him. “There’s got to be something else.”

“There isn’t anything else,” Derek replied. “It just says ‘The Heart of Atlantis lies in the eyes of its King’.”

Chris marched over to the king’s side, staring into his blind eyes.

“Where is the crystal?” Chris growled.

The king didn’t reply.

“Where are you hiding the crystal?” Chris shouted.

“You will destroy yourselves,” the king warned.

“Maybe I’m not being clear,” Chris muttered. He slammed his fist into the old man’s gut.

The man wheezed, doubling over as he fell to the ground.

“Dad!” Stiles cries.

His frail body collapsed to the marble tiles.

Boyd ran to the man’s side from his place by the door. He knelt by the man, his gently hands guiding him onto his side and into the recovery position. He began to treat the old man, glancing up at Chris and growling, “This was not part of the plan.”

“Plans change,” Chris said dismissively as he nonchalantly stepped over the king’s crumpled body. “I’d suggest you put a bandage on the bleeding heart of yours, Boyd; empathy doesn’t suit men in our industry.”

He sat on the throne.

“Diplomacy has failed us,” Chris said, cocking his gun. “So I’m going to count to ten and you’re going to tell us where the crystal is. One. Two.”

The others froze in fear, each terrified to speak up against Chris.

Chris got impatient, skipping a few numbers as he counted, “Eight. Nine.”

He paused, his voice faltering as he looked over the man’s shoulder and realised that the spiralling pattern of tiles in the pond were shaped like the symbol on the cover of the Shepard’s Journal.

“’The Heart of Atlantis lies in the eyes of its king’,” he muttered. He pushed past the others and trudged into the water.

Kate dragged Stiles forward as she followed, a masked man shoving Derek in the same direction.

“Chris, for the last time, think about this,” Derek pleaded. “You have no idea what this power is capable of.”

“True,” Kate muttered. “But I can think of a few countries that would pay _anything_ to find out.”

Chris stepped up onto one of the centre plates of the spiralling pattern, grabbing Derek’s arm and dragging him onto the descending platform.

Kate pushed Stiles onto the plate.

Stiles stumbled forward, falling into Derek’s arms while Kate leapt down onto the platform.

The platform lowered into a cavern beneath the lake, the darkness kept at bay by the glowing light that hovered above the small pool of water. The carved totems—the kings of the past—glowed with the light of the Heart of Atlantis

“Jackpot,” Chris said triumphantly.

Stiles gasped, falling to his knees and pressing his forehead to the ground as he muttered prayers.

Chris rolled his eyes and glowed, “Shut him up.”

Derek stepped over to Stiles’ side, crouching beside him and laying his hands on the young man’s shoulders as he tenderly whispered his name.

Stiles bolted upright, his eyes wide with terror. His expression softened as he looked at Derek, relaxing in his arms as Derek helped him to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered sympathetically.

Chris scuffed his boot against the rocky ledge, knocking a pebble into the crystal-clear water.

A thundering boom echoed through the cavern as the glowing light of the crystal turned red.

“Chris,” Derek growled, but it was too late; tunnels of light spread out from the core of the crystal, searching the cavern like spotlights.

“Alright, Hale, what’s next?” Chis asked.

“There is a giant crystal with sentence hovering a hundred and fifty feet in the air over a bottomless pit of water—”

Derek’s voice seemed to drift off as Stiles watched the light, mesmerised by the glow. A beam of light fell on him, fading from red to blue. The crystal of his necklace began to hover before his eyes, his golden irises fading to white.

A soft sob fell from the young man’s lips, “Mama.”

A faint sigh escaped him as he lost control of his body, his legs moving beneath him as he slowly stepped forward.

All eyes turned to him.

“Talk to me, Hale,” Chris ordered, his icy blue eyes transfixed on Stiles. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “All the says is that the crystal is alive somehow. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s their deity, their power source.”

“Speak English, kid,” Chris growled.

Derek felt frustration fuel his body as he tried to explain, “They’re a part of it. It’s a part of them. That is the best explanation I can give you.”

Stiles turned around, his clear eyes falling on Derek as he spoke in Atlantean, “It will all be alright in the end, Derek Hale. Do not be afraid.”

Derek sighed, his shoulders falling in defeat as his heart sank into his gut. He watched as Stiles turned back around and took a step out onto the lake.

His bare foot touched the water, the surface rippling but not breaking. He treaded the water, his steps slow and delicate as if he were walking on glass.

The shimmering surface reflected the glow of the crystal, rippling slightly as Stiles walked further out into the cavern. The light guided him forward until he stood beneath the crystal, his unseeing eyes gazing up into the brilliant glow above him.

The totems moved apart as the other beams began to concentrate on Stiles. They struck his chest, strangling a gasp from the young man’s body as he was paralysed. He fell back weakly, the light lifting his unmoving limbs into the air, into the crystal.

The totems began to spin, starting slowly but quickly speeding up to an incredible space. The faces of the kings of the past began to blur together, becoming nothing more than a mess of grey rock and blue light. Bolts of forked lightning fired around them, striking the crystal.

Derek flinched, shielding his face with his arm as the light shone blindingly.

The air whooshed past them, whipping their billowing fabric and stands of hair about as if they were standing amidst a raging storm.

The light began to concentrate, dimming slightly as it began to take shape. At first it looked like a jagged crystal, like the raw ore chipped out of solid rock, but then it began to smooth. The rough edges turned to curves as it began to take on a human shape.

The chrysalis sparked as it was slowly lowered down to the water’s surface.

“Stiles,” Derek gasped, stepping forward.

Chris dripped a hand onto the young man’s shoulder, stopping him. “Hold your horses, lover boy.”

Derek’s heart skipped a beat, his throat dry as he called out to the young man, “Stiles.”

Stiles’ eyes flew open, white and unseeing; void.

Derek’s heart sank into his stomach as the pained whimper fell past his lips, “Stiles.”

One of the totems fell, striking the water with a thundering crash. Another followed, an erupting wave towering over Stiles but not touching him. It was as if an invisible sphere of protection kept the young man untouched as he began to walk back to shore, his legs unmoving as he drifted across the surface.

Chis reached out, daring to probe Stiles out of curiosity when Derek stopped him.

“Don’t,” Derek warned. “Don’t touch him.”

Chris looked down at Derek, smiling triumphantly as he took in the sight of the young man’s heartbreak. His smile turned into a wicked grin as Derek met his gaze and Chris boasted, “I told you, I always get what I want.”


	12. Chapter 12

A loud clang echoed through Atlantis as the men in gas masks fixed a large metal crate around Stiles’ chrysalis form, sliding the final bolts into place and fastening the metal sheets shut.

Erica spun her wrench, tightening the bolts before nodding for the men to load the case onto the back of the truck. She hung her head in shame, feeling Derek’s eyes tingling on her skin and making the hairs on the back of her neck rise as she climbed down from the truck and trudged around to the driver’s door.

The small glass window of the metal crate misted over like ice in the early hours of a winter morning, obscuring the view of Stiles.

Derek let out a heavy sigh, looking over at Erica as she pulled open the door to the truck. She glanced over her shoulder at him but he held his fierce glare, standing his ground with the Atlanteans as they watched on with idle rage.

Erica let out a heavy sigh, pouting slightly as she tried to regain her composure and climb into the truck. She paused to watch the men haul the crate onto the back.

“So, I guess this is how it ends, huh?” Derek said out loud, addressing no-one in particular. “Congratulations, you win. You’re wiping out an entire civilisation, but hey, you’ll be rich.”

Everyone hung their heads in shame.

Derek continued, “Congratulations, Erica, looks like you and your dad can open up that second garage after all. And Allison, I bet you’re making your dad real proud right now. But that’s not what it’s all about, is it? No, that just comes with the money. That’s what you want: the money.”

“Get off your soap box, Hale,” Chris called back. “You’ve read Darwin. It’s called natural selection: survival of the fittest; adapt to survive. We’re just helping it along.”

He stepped over to Derek’s side, his face twisted into a thoughtful expression as he muttered, “I know I’m forgetting something. Let’s see… I’ve got the cargo, the crystal, the crew… Oh yeah.”

He turned, balling his fist and slamming it into Derek’s jaw.

The young man fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

The contents of his satchel spilled across the mossy tiles: the Shepard’s Journal cast aside and the photograph of his family clattering across the rocks.

Chris took another step forward, his booted foot coming down heavily on the photograph: shattering the glass and splintering the frame.

Chris picked up Derek’s glasses that Derek no longer needed from where they had been knocked aside. He lifted the corner of his shirt and roughly cleaned the lenses before tossing them to Derek.

“Think of it this way, Hale,” Chris said. “You’re the guy who discovered Atlantis and now you’re part of the exhibit.” A wicked grin lit the man’s face as he turned and walked away, his voice bellowing as he shouted, “Let’s move people!”

Derek leant forward and brushed aside the shards of glass around the photo frame, carefully pulling out the photograph of his family from the mess. He held it in his hand, looking down at the soft-featured face of his father. It was like looking in a mirror, looking back on a happier time. His father looked like him: a young man with a strong jaw, a neat beard and shimmering eyes, but the older man’s face didn’t show the signs of a rough life; there were no dark bags under his eyes, shadows of trauma lurking in his irises, or weary lines of worry creasing his face.

Derek sighed and uttered under his voice, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Erica froze, her grip tightening on the wheel. Her jaw was tense as a burning rage flooded her veins. She turned and kicked open the door of the Jeep, bounding out of the truck and storming over to Derek’s side. She ignored the shocked gazes of everyone as she offered her hand to the young man and helped him to his feet.

Allison closed her eyes, her mind darting back to the night before last, to the fire that had consumed the camp site. She remembered someone shoving her aside in their panicked frenzy. She remembered hitting the ground and curling into a ball like the scared child she was. She remembered boots hitting her as people didn’t notice her. She remembered screaming for her father, but her cries were drowned out by the roaring fire and panicked shouting of the fleeing men. Her own father hadn’t come back for her, he hadn’t noticed her or given her a second thought among the chaos, but Derek had; Derek had gone back for her, Derek had saved her.

She let out a heavy sigh and opened her eyes.

“Screw this,” she whispered, leaping off the back of the truck and marching up the line to join Derek and Erica. She reached down and picked up the Journal and Derek’s satchel before offering them back to the young man.

He took them with a curt nod, sliding the photograph under the cover of the Journal before stowing it and his glasses away in the bag.

Isaac was the next to abandon the others, scurrying over to Derek’s side and hiding behind him.

Lydia glanced in the rear-view mirror of the Jeep, letting out an overly dramatic sigh as she muttered, “We’re all going to die.”

She climbed out of the Jeep and made her way over to stand with the others.

Chris froze, standing still at the front of the caravan and turning back to look at the others, almost stunned as he growled, “You can’t be serious.”

“This is wrong and you know it,” Erica shouted back.

“We’re this close to the biggest pay day ever and you chose now to grow a conscience?” Chris growled.

“We’ve done a lot of things we’re not proud of, but nobody got hurt,” Allison pointed out.

“If that’s the way you want it, fine,” Chris spat, his icy glare focused on his daughter as he hurled open the door to his Jeep. “More money for me.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the van.

Kate climbed out of the passenger side, making her way down the line to the Jeep that Erica and Lydia had abandoned. She looked at Allison with an expression of discontent and disgust, as if she were ashamed of her niece.

The engines started, coughing and spluttering as the caravan began to drive off.

Derek turned at the sound of started gasps behind him, his eyes drawn to the fading light of the crystals that hung around the necks of the Atlanteans.

“We can’t let him do this!” Derek cried, kicking up his heels and running towards the rope bridge.

“Wait,” Allison shouted, grabbing Derek by the back of his shirt and pulling him to the ground.

The bridge erupted into flames, a thundering boom echoing through the ruins of Atlantis as wooden planks and debris were flung into the air and scattered across the space.

Derek’s ears rang, his head spinning as he squinted against the light of the explosion and watched the wooden bridge break apart and fall into the gorge. He felt a broken sob fall past his lips, his vision clearing just enough that he could see Chris drive away on the other end, the Jeeps disappearing into the dark tunnels. Beside him. He heard Allison’s voice fill with guilt as she said, “I’m sorry.”

Derek sat upright, falling back on his heels as his shoulder slumped, defeated.

“Derek!”

He turned, looking up to where Boyd called to him from the blown in temple gates. Even from this distance, Derek could see his solemn expression, the fear and sorrow in his eyes—the same expression on the faces of the nurses who told him Laura wouldn’t survive her burns, the one that he knew only meant bad news.

Boyd’s voice echoed down the ravine as he called, “You’d better get up here.”


	13. Chapter 13

Derek raced up the path lined by tunnelling statues, pillars and plants, making his way up to the palace gates. He cautiously stepped over the rubble and ruins of the destroyed gates and made his way around the lake. He stopped before the small alfresco setting and courteously bowed to the blind king before stepping up to Boyd’s side.

He kept his voice low as he asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Not good,” Boyd admitted. “He’s bleeding internally and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Derek ran his hand down his face and let out a broken sigh. “What a nightmare… and I’m the one who brought it here.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Boyd said comfortingly. “Argent has been after that crystal since we started the expedition to Iceland.”

“The crystal,” Derek muttered. He stepped around the young doctor and joined the king where he laid across the loveseat. He carefully reached forward and picked up the crystal that hung around the king’s neck, nestled into the layers of his robes. The glowing gem rested in the palm of his hand as he said, “Boyd, that’s it. These crystals, they have some sort of healing energy. I’ve seen it work.”

“No,” the king rasped, laying his hand on Derek’s. His clouded grey eyes met Derek’s gaze as he asked, “Where is my son?”

“He… He’s…” Derek couldn’t say it.

“He has been chosen like his mother before him,” the king finished knowingly.

“What?” Derek asked, his brow furrowed slightly with confusion.

“In times of danger, the crystal will choose a host—one of royal blood—to protect itself and its people,” the king explained. “It will accept no other.”

“Wait a minute,” Derek stammered. “‘Choose’. Are you telling me that thing really is alive?”

“Sort of. The crystal thrives on the emotions of all those who came before us,” the king rasped. “In return, it provides power, longevity, protection, everything. As it grew, it developed a consciousness of its own. In my own arrogance, I sought to use it as a weapon. I thought we could use it to win wars war but it proved itself to be too powerful, to great, that it could not be controlled. It overwhelmed us and my decisions—my arrogance—led to our destruction.”

“That’s why you hid it beneath the city,” Derek said with realisation. “To stop history from repeating itself.”

“And to protect Stiles from suffering the same fate as my beloved wife,” the king added.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked. “What’s going to happen to Stiles?”

“If he remains bonded to the crystal, he could be lost to it forever. The love of my son is all I have left... My burden would have become his when the time was right, but now it falls on you.”

“Me?” Derek gasped.

The king’s hands trembled as he carefully pulled the crystal necklace over his head and set it down in Derek’s hand. He rested his hand on Derek’s, tenderly curling the young man’s fingers around the cool gem and making sure Derek held onto it.

“Return the crystal. Save Atlantis. Save my son,” the man pleaded.

Derek nodded, swallowing hard against the rising lump in his throat as he whispered, “I will… I promise.”

The old man’s grip weakened, a frail wisp of breath falling from his lips as his hands fell away.

Derek bowed his head respectfully.

The guards hung their heads in respect and sorrow, muttering prayers under their breath.

Derek let out a heavy sigh, tightening his grip on the crystal as burning rage coursed through his veins. He turned his head and looked over at the lake.

Boyd stood in the corner of the sheltered platform, putting away his medical supplies with a solemn expression and a broken heard.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Boyd asked after a moment of silence.

“What?” Derek asked.

“I followed you in and I’ll follow you out. It’s your decision.”

“My decision,” Derek repeated, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “I think we’ve seen how effective my decisions have been.”

He pulled the Shepard’s Journal from his satchel and continued, “Let’s recap: I lead a band of plundering vandals to the greatest arachnological find in all of recorded history thus enabling the kidnapping and/or murder of the royal family, not to mention personally delivering the most powerful source known to man into the hands of a mercenary psychopath who’s probably going to sell it to the political forces and create the next World War, if not, the total annihilation of the human race. Have I left anything out?!” Derek howled, hurling the Journal at the ground in a fit of anger.

Boyd shrugged. His voice was quiet, almost hesitant as he added, “You did set the camp on fire and drop us into the bottom of a volcano.”

Derek threw his hands into the air in defeat.

“Thank you,” he said sarcastically. “Thank you very much.”

“Although,” Boyd started slowly, picking up the Journal and offering it back to Derek. “It’s been my experience that when you hit rock bottom, the only place left to go is up.”

“What lunatic told you that?” Derek muttered.

“A guy by the name of Robert Hale.”

Derek froze.

He looked at Boyd and then down at the Journal in the young man’s hands. He exhaled heavily and took it back, running his fingers over the leather cover. He withdrew his hand away from the Journal and lifted the king’s crystal necklace before his face, staring into the glowing gem thoughtfully.

After a moment, a thought struck him.

He tightened his fist around it and rose to his feet, determined and unstoppable. He stormed out of the palace gates and into the streets where the other members of the crew were waiting for him. He stalked past them, his mind focused and his determination unwavering.

“Where are you going?” Lydia asked as he passed.

“I’m going after Argent,” Derek growled between his teeth.

“Derek, that’s crazy,” Lydia called after him.

“I didn’t say it’s the smart thing to do,” Derek replied, taking a moment to glance over his shoulder before adding, “but it is the right thing.”

Erica sighed dramatically.

“Come on,” she encouraged the others, making a start to follow Derek. “We’d better make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

They followed Derek down through the ruins of Atlantis, climbing through the tunnels formed by toppled columns and broken buildings and waterfalls until they came out in the cavern where Stiles had found the ships.

Derek tore back the sheets the covered the fish-shaped aircrafts and pulled others out from under blankets of vines, ignoring the shocked gazes of the other as they watched him climb aboard one of the ships.

“What are you doing?” Allison asked.

He slid the crystal into place, following the instructions as the ship started up. It jerked forward as it roared to life.

The Atlanteans gathered around, watching on with shock and amazement.

“How is that done?” one man asked, stepping forward to admire one of the ships that lay still on the ground.

“You use the crystals,” Derek announced, landing his ship beside the others. “Stiles showed me.”

He dismounted and took a step aside so the others could see as he paraphrased the instructions, “Crystal in, half turn right, quarter turn back, keep your hand on the pad.”

One by one, they scurried about the space to find ships. A few of the villagers who were staying behind offered their necklaces to the crew. They thanked them and climbed aboard the fish-shaped ships, following the instructions and cheering as the inscription pads lit up and the ships come to life.

Soon, they had an army; their very own fleet of ships.

Derek looked at them, his face solemn and composed as he nodded and led the way out of the city.


	14. Chapter 14

The ships glided through the air effortlessly, soaring through the caves with the grace of fish swimming through the underwater ruins. The engines hummed as the flew through the tunnels and back through the caves and caverns that they had arrived through.

“Here’s the plan,” Derek shouted over his shoulder at the others. “We’re going to come in low and fast and catch them by surprise.”

“I’ve got news for you, Derek,” Allison called. “Chris is never surprised and he has a lot of guns.”

“Do you have any suggestions?” Derek asked.

“Yeah,” Lydia interjected from her craft that flew alongside Allison’s. “Don’t get shot.”

 

 

The men in gas masks set up a missile launcher, bolting the large base into the solid rock that formed the floor of the dormant volcano. They held the funnel upright and fired a missile into the sealed vent of the volcano. The fired ammunition struck the solid sheet of rock, shattering it and opening the roof up to the sky above.

Rubble and boulders rained down around them, stirring up clouds of dust and ash.

Chris seemed unfazed by all of it the calamity, nonchalantly making his way over to the inflating zeppelin.

The canvas bag slowly filled with hot air as the men loaded it with cargo and latched the metal hook onto the crate that held the crystal.

He climbed aboard, Kate joining him as the balloon began to rise off the ground.

The cavern was filled with a persistent, infuriating hum that sounded like a swarm of raging bees, the sound bouncing off the walls as the fleet of ships came flying into the open cave.

“We’ve got company,” Chris bellowed. “Open fire!”

The military personnel drew their guns, loading the magazine clips of bullets with one smooth motion and firing upon the approaching ships.

The Atlantean ships glided through the air, effortlessly avoiding most of the shots while the metal bodies of their ships ricocheted the bullets that would have struck them.

A couple of the Atlanteans warriors flew low and, in one swift motion, drew arrows from their quivers, notched them and fired with swift precision. Others wielded crossbows and returned fire on the armed soldiers while those armed with spears flew low and fought in close combat.

Allison flew low, drew her pistol from the small of her back and fired at the soldiers. She let out a yelp of pain as a bullet clipped the side of her gun, knocking the pistol from her hand. She turned her fierce glare to the man who had fired the shot: Chris.

He stood proud on the zeppelin, wielding his smoking gun with a smug smirk.

Allison sneered at her father, turning her ship around and skirting around the soldiers. She lined herself up to fly into the zeppelin; the least she could do is down the balloon and wipe that smugness off her father’s face while she was at it—two birds, one stone. She pressed her hand against the inscription pad, intending to drive the forward, but got a different result. The ship lit up with a brilliant azure glow, a ball of light forming in the gaping mouth of the fish-shaped craft.

She fired the plasma blast, the blaze igniting a sack of rations and supplies of gunfire on the side of the balloon and obliterating the machine gun on the far wall that was firing at the other ships.

Kate shoved the burning sack off the edge of the ship, fear shattering her composure.

Erica brought her ship about and flew beside Allison, a joyous smile lighting her face as she gasped, “Okay, that was cool.”

“Heads up, Allison.” Derek called as he flew past her.

She adjusted her controls and took off again, flying alongside Derek.

“We can’t let that balloon reach the top of that shaft,” Derek shouted over the gunfire. “You and I will be decoys. Boyd and Erica, you two fly under that thing and cut the cage free.”

“On it,” they all agreed.

Derek and Allison navigated their ships, flying about in circles around the large balloon. They diverted Chris’ attention, the man redirecting the barrel of his pistol and firing at Derek.

“Damn it, Hale!” he howled. “Don’t you ever know when to give up?”

Derek kept his head low, ignoring the man as he glanced down.

Erica and Boyd’s ship hovered beneath the balloon, Boyd steering the craft and trying to keep it steady while Erica climbed onto the metal crate with Boyd’s saw blade in hand. She began to saw through the chains, quickly getting frustrated by the sparks that scattered about her but yielded no results; the chains were still perfectly in tact.

“I thought you said this thing could cut through a femur in three point four seconds,” she growled.

“Less talking, more sawing,” Boyd encouraged.

Chris sneered and aimed his gun at Derek and fired again.

Allison turned her ship about, firing a plasma blast that knocked the gun from Chris’ grasp.

His glare snapped at her, the icy blue depths burning with livid rage.

She smiled and mockingly saluted him before flying off.

Chris seemed to notice something. His head whipped about and he leant over the railing, catching sight of the young woman sawing through the chains.

“Looks like someone’s working overtime,” he growled.

Kate joined him, looking over the edge. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, plucking a grenade from her belt, pulling the pin and dripping it down onto Erica’s ship.

“Come on. We’ve got to go,” Boyd yelled, grabbing Erica by her overalls and pulling her onto his ship. He pulled the ship away, shooting Derek an apologetic look.

Derek nodded, pulling back from the attack to think. His mind reeled with thousands of possibilities but only one stood out. After a moment, he let out a heavy sigh and uttered under his breath, “God, I wish I had a better idea than this.”

He adjusted his stance on the ship, pulling his knees up beneath him and balancing on his feet. He placed his hand against his inscription pad and drove the ship forward. At the last second he pulled the crystal from the slot and leapt from the ship.

He grabbed the rope netting around the canvas of the balloon, swinging as he the rough fibres tore at the skin of his hands. He let go with one hand, shoving the crystal necklace into his pocket before grabbing the ropes again.

The craft tore through the canvas on one side of the balloon, bursting one of the supporting canvas sheets.

Chris looked over the railing of the basket, cursing under his breath.

“We’re losing altitude,” he shouted to Kate. “We have to lighten the load.”

Kate hurled the last few sacks and barrels overboard.

The balloon continued to drift downwards.

“That’s it,” Kate said over the gunfire, dusting off her hands as she looked down at the approaching rock of the base of the volcano. “Unless someone wants to jump.”

Chris grabbed her by the shoulders. “Ladies first.”

He shoved her overboard.

She reacted quickly, grabbing the railing and swinging herself back onto the zeppelin. The sole of her boot slammed into the man’s jaw as she leapt back into the basket.

“You said we were in this together,” she snapped, swinging her leg around again and kicking him.

Chris caught her boot, his voice calm and level as he nonchalantly said, “I work better alone.”

He pushed her leg aside, knocking her off balance and hurling her overboard. He watched as she fell into the cushion of ash and dust, shouting after her, “It’s nothing personal.”

Derek gritted his teeth, his arms aching under the strain as he began to slowly climb down towards the basket of the zeppelin. He swung his legs back and dropped down, slamming his boots into Chris’ chest.

Chris stumbled backwards, toppling over the railing but quickly regaining his balance.

Derek stumbled forward, grasping the railing he fell over the edge of the platform. He swung his body back up onto the platform, but Chris slammed his hand around Derek’s throat, knocking him down. He pinned Derek beneath his boot, the young man’s head tossed backwards and the propeller blades of the zeppelin tousling his unkempt hair.

Derek grabbed Chris’ ankle, holding himself upright and straining his neck to pull his head away from the blades.

“I have to hand it to you, Hale,” Chris growled, his composure fractured and his face filled with rage and irritation. “You’re a bigger pain in the neck then I would have thought possible. You’re as stubborn as your father was, up until his last breath.”

“Good,” Derek hissed as he shoved Chris’ boot aside, leaping to his feet and lunging at Chris. He balled his fist and threw his arm forward.

Chris caught his hand, blocking the punch and swiftly returning the attack with a kick to Derek’s gut.

The young man stumbled backwards, his back hitting the railing with enough force that the welded metal snapped beneath his weight. He fell backwards, his body weightless for a moment as air rushed past him. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold metal of the broken railing. He tightened his grip, his body jerking to a halt as he grabbed the bar.

The metal bar swung between the rotating blades, jamming the propellers.

They creaked and groaned in protest, shuddering as the small engine forced them to grind against the railing.

Derek slid further down the broken railing, swinging his body and jumping onto the chains that held the thick crate. He let out a grunt, the muscles in his arms burning at the strain of holding himself upright.

Beads of sweat formed on his olive skin, dripping down his forehead and stinging his eyes. He blinked his vision clear and began to climb down towards the crate.

“It takes a lot to get under my skin,” Chris continued, enraged as he watched Derek scurry away. He smashed the emergency glass and pulled out the fire axe, descending through the rotors and advancing towards Derek. “But, congratulations, you just won the award for being the first person to truly piss me off.”

Derek glanced downwards, catching sight of a movement among the ash on the floor of the volcano vent.

Kate rolled onto her side, pulling something from the small of her back. Blood dripped from her forehead and her lips as she aimed the barrel of the flare gun at the rising zeppelin.

“Nothing personal,” she seethed and she pulled the trigger.

Derek’s eyes flew open wide as the fireball tore through the air, striking the canvas and setting it ablaze.

The light of the flames threw menacing shadows across Chris’ face.

The man raised his arm and swung the axe.

Derek pulled back, the blade slicing through his shirt and hitting the thick metal of the crate.

Chris jerked his arm back and swung again.

Derek ducked, the blade of the axe shattering the misted glass window of the crate. He watched as wisps of light and air rose from the shards like steam. He acted quickly, pulling the torn piece of cotton from his shirt, wrapping it around his hand and grabbing the large glass fragment.  He tightened his grip on it, brandishing it like a dagger.

Chris let out a frustrated cry as he hurled the axe aside and grabbed Derek by the throat, hurling him up.

Derek grabbed at his wrist, burning pain tearing through his body as he gargled and choked on his last breath. He narrowed his glare on Chris, bringing up the hand that held the crystal-infused glass shard and slicing open the man’s forearm.

Chris cried out in pain dropping Derek.

Derek grabbed onto the chains, quickly climbing up past the jammed rotor blades and onto the platform. He looked back over the edge of the platform, watching as Chris reared back, a deep sapphire blue overcoming his body like the tide coming in to shore. His veins glowed like red magma coursing through the underground chambers, his cry distorted until it sounded like a mechanical screech, and the unnatural colour consuming his body.

Chris fell still, his cry silenced and his body as solid as a rock.

Derek let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders falling as he whispered, “Thank heavens.”

A thundering boom rang in Derek’s ears as a hand grabbed the nearby bar.

Derek eyes flew open wide, his gaze falling on the unhuman blue figure that hurled itself up onto the platform.

The metal plate began to tilt.

Derek wheeled backwards, trying to back away from the monstrous creature.

There was a loud clang as the railing snapped and a groaning whir as the engine began to turn the blades again.

The creature let out a distorted screech, its flaring red eyes flying open as the blades tore through their torso. Chris’ body shattered, fragments of dark blue crystal flying about.

One of the fragments sliced through the chains that held the crate, dropping the metal cage to the floor of the cavern.

The zeppelin dropped a little lower, the raging inferno consuming the canvas balloon.

Derek leapt over the railing, dropping to the ash-covered ground. He curled up in a ball, lifting his arms over his head as he tried to shield himself from the fireball that fell around him, the raging fire and thundering crash stirring something.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and let the heavy breath that he didn’t know he was holding fall past his lips. He groaned, his head spinning as he rolled onto his back. His vision was blurred, light and colour nothing more than streaks.

The ground beneath him grew warm, shaking and thundering.

A shadow passed over him, stopping as someone leant forward.

From somewhere in the distance, Derek could hear Allison shout, “Derek… Derek, come on… Let’s go... We have to go _now_!”

The young man blinked heavily, shaking himself from the trance as he bounced to his feet and ran towards the metal crate.

“Derek!” Allison objected, turning the ship about and flying after him.

“If we don’t get Stiles out of here, the city will die,” Derek called.

“If we don’t get out of here, we’ll die!” Erica screamed.

“I’m not leaving him!” Derek bellowed as he grabbed the length of chain that was still connected to the crate. He tossed it to her and she made quick work of looping it around the fin-like end of their ship. She locked it into place, testing the hook before looking back at Derek.

A funnel of magma erupted nearby, the wave of searing heat rolling over them.

“Go!” Derek shouted to Boyd and Erica, running towards Allison.

She held her arm out for him, ready to pull him up onto the ship and fly away.

“Go,” Derek shouted as he sprinted towards her.

She moved the ship forward.

The chain pulled taut and the metal ring on the cage snapped.

Derek paused, spinning around. He turned and ran back to the cage.

“Derek, no!” Allison shouted.

Derek ignored her, grabbing the chain and dragging it back towards the crate. He looped it around the bulky metal plates and hooked it into place.

“Go!” he howled.

The ships flew on.

Derek leapt onto the metal crate, his fingers aching as he clung to the chains and metal ridges. The volcano erupted around them, waves of heat overwhelming Derek.

He blinked heavily, fighting back the creeping darkness of unconsciousness as his body weakened and the heat overcame his senses.

The crate bounced off the narrow walls of the tunnels, tossing Derek about as he desperately tried to hold on with trembling hands.

Through the blurry haze of his vision, he saw a bust of pale blue light. There was a rush of cool air, the refreshing burst clearing Derek’s mind and bringing him back to clear consciousness as they burst into the dim light of day.

The ships glided through the air and over the city of Atlantis.

Derek dropped off of the crate, hitting the ground with a grunt as Erica and Boyd tried to steer the ship to carefully lower the crate onto the large plateau that formed the city centre. He stepped forward and pulled the chain free, ignoring the loud grumbling of the volcano behind him.

“It’s going to blow at any minute,” Isaac shouted, his panicked gaze fixed on the bubbling magma that spewed from the vents, precursors to the seismic event that was soon to follow.

Derek pulled at the plates of the metal crate, the solid metal tearing at his fingers.

One of the Atlantean guards sprinted forwards and passed him a staff.

Derek took it with a quick muttered thank you. He wedged the tip between the metal plates and pulled the pole back, prying them open.

The bolts gave way, light exploding from the crate as the metal places fell away. They stilled for a second, hovering around Stiles’ crystallised body like the totems of the kings of the past had hovered around the Heart of Atlantis in the cavern beneath the palace.

Derek stumbled back, shielding his eyes from the blinding light. His gaze fell upon the grooves in the floor, watching as the crevices began to glow. The light flowed through them like water through channels. He lifted his gaze, finding that the city was covered in the streams of light, tessellating among the ancient ruins.

The ground beneath their feet began to rumble, sections of tiles pulling back and clusters of rocks and rich earth erupting from the holes as the carved totems of the past kings rose from beneath the city.

The glided upwards and hovered around Stiles, turning slowly around his crystallised body as they rose high into the air. They spun faster and faster, blurring into one brilliantly glowing light, the star.

Derek watched as a beam of light shot out from the radiant crystal, shooting through the air like a falling star and reviving the golem that stood by the city’s entrance. It rose from the sea, shaking free the lily pads, seaweed and reeds that clung to its marble body.

Another light struck the golem that overlooked the city. It straightened, shaking free the vines and patches of moss that covered it. It stepped forward, thundering footfalls shaking the city as it took its place beside the other.

Another light stuck another golem, and another, and another, until all the guarding golems took their places on the outskirts of the town.

Raining fireballs and rocks were propelled from the volcano, striking the golems but leaving them unperturbed.

They raised their hands and brought them together in thundering claps. A shield of light and energy erupted from the echoing applause as they drew their arms outwards. The shields radiated from their hands, blending together as they formed a protective dome that covered the city of Atlantis.

The volcano erupted, the magma flying high into the sky, spewing from the vents and rolling forward like a tidal wave. The lava covered the shield like a wave caressing the shore, quickly cooling and solidifying into a thick case of dark rock.

Everything was still.

Everything was quiet.

As quickly as it had started, it had ended.

There was a quiet crackle, like a small pebble toppling down a mountainside or a sheet of ice breaking beneath your foot.

A beam of light broke through the sheet of newly formed rocks. It began to bleed outwards, tessellating into spirals and runes. Streams of azure light covered the rocky dome, stilling for a second before the entire dome of rock shattered.

Chunks of rock broke away and fell into the depths of water beneath the plateau of the city. Large boulders broke the rocky ledge that encased the city, leaving each of the golems to stand proud on pillars while the water drained out of the city, forming waterfalls between the gaps; thick sheets and walls of foaming white water.

The golems lowered their arms, the shield dissipating.

Derek let the breath he didn’t know he was holding fall weakly past his lips.

The sky dimmed to the natural light of day as thick plumes of smoke and steam rolled around them, broken by a single stream of light that filtered down and shone on the tiles of the ground beneath Derek’s feet.

The young man turned his gaze to the sky, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes followed it up to the clouds above.

The light shifted, a shadow dancing against the sheets of clouds as a body drifted down; still and lifeless, but human.

“Stiles,” Derek gasped.

He rushed forward, holding his hands out before him and positioning them beneath the young man’s body, ready to catch him.

The light faded.

Stiles’ body fell into his arms, the weight dropping Derek to his knees.

Derek wanted to say his name, but no words came out. He stared down at the young man’s still body in his arms.

A weak groan fell past Stiles’ slips as he stirred, blinking his eyes open as if he were awakening from sleep.

“Derek,” Stiles rasped.

Derek let out a breathless sigh, his lips trembling as his words failed him.

Never would he have thought it would be so good to hear Stiles’ voice, the melodic tones of his soft whisper. For a moment, Derek lost himself in the rich depths of the young man’s amber eyes, but Stiles broke the gaze as something caught his attention; a sensation.

Stiles looked down at his hand, unfurling his fingers to reveal the small silver band that rested in his palm. His eyes filled with recognition as he gently ran the ball of his thumb across the familiar grooves of silver.

It was his: the bangle he had worn as a child; the one he had lost when his mother was taken from him.

He curled his hand around the bracelet, clutching it to his chest as warm tears welled in his eyes.

“Mama…” he uttered under his breath.

Stiles let out a heavy sigh, turning to look up at Derek.

Derek held him close, cradling Stiles’ slender figure to his chest.

Stiles turned and hugged him.

Derek returned the hug, burying his face in Stiles’ shoulder. He cupped the back of Stiles’ head, lacing his fingers through the soft locks of Stiles’ hair. He held him close, trying to convince himself that that was real; Stiles was there.

After a moment, Derek pulled back, gazing down into Stiles’ eyes.

The steam cleared and revealed to them the wondrous view of the city of Atlantis: the water drained away, revealing the buildings that had been submerged and the unexplored ruins.

Stiles and Derek carefully rose to their feet, stepping forward to the edge of the plateau as their eyes fell upon the breathtaking sight.

The others stepped forward to join them, looking out over the wondrous city.

“No amount of money’s worth this,” Erica whispered in awe.

Derek smiled.

 _We did it, Dad,_ he thought to himself. _We finally did it._

Derek felt a tender touch brush against the palm of his hand as Stiles’ fingers cautiously caressed Derek’s hand.

Derek turned his hand, lacing his fingers with Stiles’.


	15. Chapter 15

Derek crouched before the large rock, chipping away at thin grooves until they finally took shape. He chiselled away the final few fragments and brushed the dust and loose rocks from the furrows before stepping back to join Stiles. He pulled the young man into his arms, giving him a moment of comfort and mourning.

Stiles drew in a heavy breath, fighting back his tears as he stepped forward and pulled the crystal necklace over his head. He gently blew on the gem, watching as the gleaming crystal glowed like a flickering candle light.

The glow intensified and he reached forward and touched the crystal to the grooves, the light trickling through the carved lines like water and lighting the totem of his father.

Stiles took a step back and watched as it slowly rose into the air, joining the totems that hovered over the city; the kings of the past forever watching over them.

Stiles bowed his head, a glistening tear falling past his eyelashes and caressing his cheek.

Derek stepped forward, taking Stiles’ hand in his own. He took a step closer and whispered, “Come on.”

He led Stiles through the ruins of Atlantis, scurrying over to the largest pillar that overlooked the city.

Stiles and Derek adjusted their ceremonial robes, quickly climbing up the vine-covered pillar. They climbed to the top and stood among the soft cushion of moss.

Stiles’ eyes glimmered as he looked out across the city, numb tears caressing his mole-speckled cheeks as he watched his father’s totem rise and circle above the city and circling in the sky where it would forever watch over him.

Derek turned his gaze to the young man, watching the amber depths of his eyes swell with tears of pain and loss. He carefully reached out, taking Stiles’ hand in his own. He knew Stiles couldn’t draw his eyes away from the totem but he felt the young man squeeze his hand in return, lacing their fingers together.

 

 

“Atlantis will honour your names forever,” Stiles said gratefully, lifting the chain of a crystal necklace over Boyd’s head. “I only wish there was more that we could do for you.”

“I think we’re good,” Allison replied softly, brushing her fingers across the crystal that hung around her neck and glancing over her shoulder at the piles of gold, jewels and vases that a few Atlanteans were loading into a ship.

“They’ll take you as far as the surface,” Derek told them.

“We’re going to miss you, Derek,” Lydia admitted.

Erica ran up to Derek, planting a kiss on his cheek. She pulled back and balled her fist, readying a punch.

Derek flinched.

Erica chuckled.

“Two for flinching,” she teased, gently tapping his bicep with her fists twice before casually saluting him. “See you, Derek.”

Isaac scurried up to Derek, hugging him before sprinting back to the group.

“I’ll miss you too, Isaac,” Derek muttered.

“Are you sure you want to stay?” Boyd asked. “There’s a hero’s welcome waiting back home for the guy who discovered Atlantis.”

“I don’t think the world needs another hero,” Derek replied. “But there’s an opening down here for an expert in gibberish.”

Boyd smiled and nodded.

“Can I ask something of you?” Derek asked.

“Anything.”

“My sister… Promise me you’ll make sure she’s done right by,” Derek requested, his voice a soft plea. He looked down at the small parcel in his hand, holding it out to Boyd. “And, please, give this to her.”

“Of course,” Boyd promised before quietly saying, “Take care of yourself.”

He took the parcel from Derek, extending his hand and pulling Derek close and hugging him tight.

“You too, Boyd,” Derek replied, returning the hug.

Derek farewelled the others before stepping back to Stiles’ side and waving goodbye.

The ship took off, circling the city one last time before flying through the new tunnels formed in the volcano and leaving Atlantis forever.


	16. Epilogue

Deaton inspected the photographs of the crew and the city, lowering the pieces of paper to look at the group of finely dressed individuals that sat before him. Each of them wore tailored suits and fine dresses, layers of fabric concealing the glowing crystals that hung around their necks.

“Let’s go over this again, just so we get it straight,” Deaton prompted. “You didn’t find anything?”

“No,” Allison replied. “Just a lot of rocks and fish.”

Deaton looked down at the photographs of Derek flying the fish-shaped ships, the large golems that stood guarding the outskirts of town and cityscape of Atlantis.

“What happened to Katherine?” Deaton asked.

“She’s missing,” Lydia replied. She paused and uttered under her breath, “Good riddance.”

Deaton ignored her added comment, bowing his head in a curt nod that allowed him to hide the small smile that lifted the corners of his lips. “And Christopher?”

“He had a nervous breakdown,” Boyd answered. “You could say he went to pieces.”

“And Derek?” Deaton asked.

“He went down with the sub,” Erica replied diligently.

All of their answers were correct to some extent; little white lies told in order to protect the people and the culture of the lost city of Atlantis.

“And if you ever get confused or flustered, what do you say?” Deaton asked.

“It all happened so fast,” they said in unison, their voices twinged with sorrow as they all bowed their heads.

Deaton nodded. He paused for a moment, a heavy sigh falling past his lips as he looked at the next photograph: one of Derek and Stiles standing before a glistening waterfall, hand in hand as they looked at each other with loving gazes.

“I’m going to miss that boy,” Deaton muttered. He looked closer at the photograph, sighing again when he saw the joyous smile on Derek’s face. “At least he’s in a better place.”

Beneath the photos was the small parcel Boyd had handed him, addressed to Cora.

Deaton set down the photographs and excused himself, making his way upstairs to Cora’s bedroom.

He gently knocked at the door and stepped inside.

Cora was sitting on her bed, reading one of her brother’s old books when Deaton handed her the parcel.

“Can I open it?” she asked as the man turned to leave, a solemn expression on his face.

Deaton nodded and replied, “You can open it whenever you feel ready to.”

He left, gently shutting the door behind himself.

Cora looked down at the small packaged in her hands, eyeing it sceptically for a moment before she began to unravelled the frail brown paper it was wrapped in.

Inside the parcel was an old photograph of her family: her mother, her father, Laura and Derek. Accompanying it was a letter and two crystal necklaces.

She unfolded the pieces of paper and began to read the note,

 

 _Dear Cora,_  


_This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. I’ve tried many times to put words down on this piece of paper, but I just end up tearing myself apart over what I should say._

_You are going to hear a lot of rumours about this expedition. They will say that the expedition failed, that we found nothing and lost many. I will be named as one of these casualties, and while there is some truth to these rumours, I’m afraid that I have to ask you to play along with these white lies._

_I’m sorry; I will not be returning to the surface._

_Down here in Atlantis, I have found love._

_I have found my place._

_I have found a home._

_Leaving you behind is the hardest decision I have ever made but I assure you, Dr Deaton will take good care of you. You will have a home, an education and everything you could have ever wished for; everything I could never give you._

_I want you to know that I love you, I always have and I always will. I want you to know that I am proud of you and you will be in my thoughts for every second of every day._

_I’m sending back the photo of Mum, Dad and Laura. I haven’t gone a day without it, but I have a feeling that you will need it more than I will. Keep it with you and remember that they’re there with you, always: watching over you, looking after you, and loving you unconditionally._

_In this parcel, you will also find two crystal necklaces._

_Please give one to Dr Deaton and tell him that I hope this piece of proof is enough for him and that our father and I both thank him._

_The other one is for you, Cora._

_I want you to hold onto it._

_If you ever feel scared, sad or alone, hold it close and know that I am on the other side and I feel your presence and your love._

_Even if I never see you again, I will always be there for you._

_Remember, I love you._

_Forever and always,_

_Your loving brother,_

_Derek._

 

Tears prickled Cora’s eyes, streaking her vision as she picked up one of the two crystal necklaces that laid on the crumpled brown paper. She lifted it over her head, feeling the weight of the crystal rest in her palm as the chain tickled the nape of her neck. She clutched the crystal to her chest, feeling it resonate with the spirit of Atlantis, with her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment to thank all of you for your support, thank you for reading this series and leaving all those wonderful comments that have helped keep me motivated and going on days when I would have loved to just give up. Thank you for you helping me finish of this story, for leaving comments and kudos.  
> Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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